


Summer Court

by dragonfeather



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Der Rattenfänger von Hameln | The Pied Piper of Hamelin (Fairy Tale), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Fae & Fairies, Snow Queen Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-01-16 08:51:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21268340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonfeather/pseuds/dragonfeather
Summary: What if the magical land that Lucy found on the other side of the wardrobe was Neverland - a Neverland stuck in eternal winter because of fairy politics and magic. A Neverland which desperately needed the help of four mortal children to find it's balance again. Or, what if the Chronicles of Narnia were about the fairy otherworld instead of being a thinly disguised Christian religious allegory?





	1. Operation Pied Piper

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Bargains We Make](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10143995) by [IShouldBeWriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldBeWriting/pseuds/IShouldBeWriting). 

> This piece of fiction was inspired by The Bargains We Make (https://archiveofourown.org/works/10143995), by the lovely IShouldBeWriting, as well as, of course, both J.M Barrie's Peter and Wendy and C.S. Lewis' The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe - both of which have been favourites of mine since I was around Lucy's age - and the swathes of fairytales of all sorts that I continue to read with what is probably unhealthy enjoyment. I hope you like it :) 
> 
> If you want to read the originals, both are available as free ebooks on Project Gutenberg:  
https://gutenberg.ca/ebooks/lewiscs-thelionthewitchandthewardrobe/lewiscs-thelionthewitchandthewardrobe-00-h.html  
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26654
> 
> And a little more information about Operation Pied Piper (that was its actual, real name):  
https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2011/mar/12/children-evacuation-london-second-world-war

Just before war broke out in Europe, four children lived with their parents, and their dog, Nana, in London. Their names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy.

Their father, Edmund Pevensie Snr, was a banker, and their mother, Wendy Pevensie nee Darling was a thoughtful woman who always had a smile and a story for her children. She also had an odd fixation with keeping the nursery windows shut and latched, even in the brief, sticky Indian summers that London ocassionally suffered through, but she would never say why.

Nana was a prim Newfoundland who thought of herself as the children's caretaker, and had done since the Pevensies became acquainted with her during a walk in Kensington Gardens. At that point in time, Lucy, the youngest of the four children had only just arrived, and Mrs Pevensie was constantly tired. Mr Pevensie - Edmund Snr. - was somewhat less tired, but he was softening towards his wife's request for some assistance as he was becoming rather fed up with her always being tired. Peter and Susan, at five and four years old respectively, were a consistent drain on his free time, and Edmund Jnr. had started to become somewhat sulky at losing out on his mother's attention to the new baby. Nana was a perfect compromise, for though she was a careful caretaker and an excellent nurse, she was also not a significant drain on the family's finances.

Both Mrs Pevensie and Nana believed in old fashioned remedies like rhubarb leaf and castor oil, and so the Pevensie children grew up learning the difference between pennywort and pennyroyal, and why mint should be used to ward off ants from the pantry but parsley and lemon were the better choice to ward off a cough.

When Operation Pied Piper was begun, Wendy Pevensie swore to her husband that she would not have their children sent away. A year later, under the constant threat of German bombs, she tearfully set them on the train to the coutryside, to stay with their great-uncle Digory Kirke, whom she had known in passing when she was a child. The Pevensie children thought it a grand adventure, though Lucy, at nearly eight years old, had not quite grasped that she would not be coming back home on Monday after visiting in the country for the weekend, and Edmund Jnr was a little cross with her for it, as he had explained several times over that this was not in fact the case. Nana did not go with them, as the train would not allow animals on board no matter how sternly Mr Pevensie spoke with the conductor. There were moments, later on, when Mrs Pevensie wished that she had simply smuggled Nana on board. She was a good dog, and would not have made trouble at all, and she could perhaps have kept the children safer than they were without her.

It is well known that dogs and cats do not care for the fey in general. A well behaved brownie or house goblin may get along with a good natured cat or dog, but for the most part animals recognise that there is little good and a great deal of harm which can come to their families from the fey. Sadly, though Nana barked and barked, and Wendy Pevensie wrung her hands and stared anxiously after the train well after it was out of sight, neither of them was able to accompany the Pevensie children into the countryside.

* * *

In most retellings of this story, it begins the morning after the four children arrived at their great-uncle's house. Digory Kirke was a professor, who lived deep in the heart of the country, ten miles from the nearest railway station and two miles from the nearest post office. He had no wife and he lived in a very large house with a housekeeper called Mrs Macready and three servants, named Ivy, Margaret and Betty. He himself was a very old man with shaggy white hair which grew over most of his face as well as on his head, and the children liked him almost at once. And that is almost right - but there was one thing that happened before that rainy morning which is worth mentioning.

Lucy, the youngest of the Pevensies, woke up in the middle of the night - or she thought she did. It was no great surprise to her, since she had trouble sleeping soundly without Nana's soft, rumbling snores to assure her that she was safe, watched over and protected from all harm and bad dreams. Nana was terribly good at recognising a bad dream as it tried to enter the nursery, and would always catch them before they could get in, shake them roughly to let them know not to try again, and toss them out into the hallway. Lucy thought that it was perhaps a bad dream that had woken her, although she didn't remember one. Or perhaps it was a bird; Edmund had claimed before they went to bed to have heard an owl, and Peter had agreed with him.

In any case, Lucy slipped out of bed and padded in her slippered feet off towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. When she returned, she could not quite tell if she were dreaming or not. The window had blown open, and a swirl of dry leaves lay on the floor, which was not so very strange. But there was a boy sitting there on the windowsill, dressed in skeleton leaves and feathers and shadows all held together with spiderweb, softly playing on a shepherd's flute which is also sometimes called a recorder - although it had never been clear to Lucy why that was, since it did not in fact record anything at all.

Lucy stopped in the doorway and stood perfectly still for a second, then she said, "Hello?"  
The boy looked up, and, seeing Lucy, he leapt lightly out of the open window. Lucy gasped in distress and ran to the window. The bedroom that she and Susan were sharing was on the third floor, and so she quite logically thought that the boy might be injured by jumping out. He wasn't though. There was no sign of him at all, and when she looked up, in the black night she could see nothing but what she thought was a shooting star. Lucy looked out of the window for a long time, but she didn't see any sign of the strange boy, and eventually she closed the window and went back to bed. She slept uneasily, though, and dreamed of islands hidden under snow and frozen lakes on which pink flamingoes skittered and tripped and flapped in uncoordinated and confused panic.


	2. The Door in the Wardrobe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After strange dreams during her first night at Professor Digory Kirke's house, Lucy finds an old wardrobe while exploring the house. She also meets her very first fairy, and discovers a lamp post in a forest that shouldn't be there.

When the next morning came, there was a steady rain falling like a sheet of mist that hid the mountains and the woods, and even the little stream in the garden. Lucy frowned sleepily at the window, which was quite distinctly shut, and burrowed further into bed. Her brother Edmund wandered into the room at that moment, still in his pyjamas and with his hair sticking up in every direction, and sat on the edge of her bed, staring mournfully out at the rain.  
"Of course it would be raining," he said.  
"Never mind, Edmund," said Susan, yawning. "Let's go have breakfast. It'll likely clear up in an hour or so anyway."  
Peter popped his head around the doorframe and said, "Oh, there you are, Ed!"  
"Edmund," said Edmund, who hated having his name shortened.  
Peter grinned. "Yes of course. Breakfast sounds like a grand idea, though! Shall we get dressed and head down?"  
Lucy grumbled something from where her head was hidden under the covers, and Susan laughed brightly.  
"Yes, let's," she said. "Get up, Lucy! It's breakfast time."

Edmund followed Peter back across the hallway to the room the two of them were sharing, while Susan chivvied Lucy out of bed and helped her brush her hair. Without Nana around to help, she had taken on the responsibility of trying to keep her two younger siblings neat and tidy as much as she could. Not that she told them this, she simply did what she thought she needed to do. Lucy thought that Nana had a much gentler touch with the hairbrush, but she tried very hard to sit still and let her sister brush her hair anyway. It made Susan happy, and Lucy liked making her sister happy. Lucy liked making everyone happy, really.

After breakfast, the four of them went back upstairs to the bedroom the girls were sharing. It was a long, low room with two windows looking out over the garden, and another looking the other way, across to the woods. The heavy rain was still turning the sky grey and hiding the details of anything further away than the immediate surrounds of the house. The room itself had clearly been repurposed form being a study or library of some sort, or perhaps the professor simply stored books in the guest rooms. Several shelves of books sat against the walls, jammed with all sorts of books and magazines, and there was a comfy armchair near the window with a reading lamp next to it.  
"It's still raining," said Edmund sadly, staring out the window. "I wanted to go and look at the woods."  
"Oh, Ed," said Susan, ignoring his frown at the nickname. "I'm sure it'll stop soon. And we're not badly off in the meantime, with all these books. I bet there are cards somewhere, too. We could play Canasta."  
"Not me," said Peter. "I think I'll explore the house."  
"Oh, yes, that sounds much better than Canasta," exclaimed Lucy, who didn't really have the patience for card games.

And that, really, is how it all began.

Professor Kirke's house was huge, the sort of winding old building that seems to twist back on itself so that you never quite come to the end of it. The first few doors that the Pevensie children opened led into spare bedrooms, which was not at all unexpected, but after that they came to a long hallway full of portraits of odd looking people with too-sharp features, wearing old-fashioned clothes. There was a suit of armour at the end of the hallways, and then a room painted and decorated all in green, with a harp in one corner and an old harpsichord in the other. Only Susan even knew what a harpsichord was, and that only because her schoolfriend Janet was taking piano lessons and had told her all about the strange instruments that her tutor had at his studio. There were stairs up, and then even more stairs going down, and a sort of little upstairs corridor that led out onto a small balcony. Lucy would have liked to sit out there for a while if the weather was nicer, but in the rain it seemed like a miserable thing to try. She agreed with Susan that perhaps they could have tea there on another day.

After that was a whole series of rooms that led into one another and were lined with books. Susan marvelled at them all, but Peter and Edmund were impatient to find something more exciting, so the four of them moved on. The series of rooms with books and bookshelves ended in a room with plain white walls which was quite empty aside from a large wooden wardrobe, the sort with a mirror in the door. There was nothing else in the room at all except for a sideboard in the same dark wood as the wardrobe, and a dead bluebottle on the windowsill.  
"Nothing here," said Peter, "Come on, let's try the ground floor!"  
They all trooped out again, except for Lucy. She was busy inspecting the sideboard, which had beautiful carvings on it that were different on each drawer. As the others headed back through the book rooms, Lucy gently pulled on the top drawer to see what might be inside. She was curious, to be honest, about what might be inside the wardrobe too, although she thought it would probably be locked.

The drawer pulled open easily, and a tiny light like a firefly shot up out of it and across the room. It buzzed across the room, darting around at such a tremendous speed that trying to watch it made Lucy quite dizzy. She sat down quite suddenly, and so when the wardrobe door creaked open she was already sitting down. Lucy turned around quickly, and her eyes got very wide as she saw the boy from the previous night standing just inside the wardrobe.  
"Oh!" Said Lucy, and at the very same time, the boy said, "Oh!" as well.  
The darting light stopped for just a moment on top of the wardrobe door, and Lucy saw that it was a tiny fairy, no longer than a grownup's hand. She was the prettiest creature that Lucy could remember ever seeing, although her pointy face was screwed up in a terrible frown. her wings looked like a dragonfly's, and she was wearing a dress made from a skeleton leaf, all rimed with frost that glittered in the light.  
"How beautiful," said Lucy, and the tiny fairy preened and smiled at Lucy. She made a sound like a great many small golden bells tinkling together.  
"She says she likes you," said the boy.  
"You can understand her? That's amazing," said Lucy admiringly.  
"I am amazing," said the boy, puffing up slightly. Then he drooped, and a single tear rolled down the side of his nose. "Usually," he added.  
"What's wrong?" Asked Lucy.  
"I'm afraid I've lost something very important. Tink, did you find it?"  
The fairy made a noise like a ripple of tinkling bells again, and darted into motion. She zipped around the room, not stopping for a second, although she did slow down slightly as she went past Lucy's face and tweaked her nose. Not hard, mind, just a little poke like a spark of static electricity. Lucy jumped anyway.  
The boy grinned and said, "Oh, well, bring it here!"  
Another ripple of bells tinkled from the air, though this one sounded somewhat put out.  
Lucy looked around for the fairy, then asked, "What did she say?"  
The boy had drooped again, and tears were sliding out of his eyes. He said, "She can't get it. She says it's in the big box, but she can't get it out."  
"What is it?" Lucy got up and walked over to the sideboard. "Can't you get it, if it's too heavy for her?"  
"I'm not allowed in," said the boy sadly.  
Lucy looked at him curiously, deeply confused. After a moment, she said, "But aren't you inside already?"  
The fairy glittered and tinkled with what was quite obviously laughter. She landed on the top of the sideboard and stood there, while glittering traceries of frost spread from her feet onto the wood. Then she said something else in the fairy language, something pretty and musical and sharp, and the boy stared at her oddly for a second.

He looked back at Lucy and said, "Tink says that I'm being terribly rude. I haven't introduced myself."  
"Oh, I don't mind," said Lucy.  
"You should call me Yeru," said the boy. "What's your name?"  
"Lucy Moira Pevensie," said Lucy. "Do you have just the one?"  
"Well," said Yeru, "I've had others. But this is the one I like best at the moment."  
It was at this moment that Lucy and Yeru both heard the footsteps of Lucy's siblings returning up the stairs.  
Yeru's eyes widened, and he whispered, "I'll see you again, Lucy Moira Pevensie!"  
Then he whistled a sound like an owl hooting, and the fairy zipped past him into the wardrobe. He slinked backwards, deeper into the wardrobe, and pulled the doors shut behind him.

Lucy hesitated only a second before pulling the wardrobe doors open again. They opened easily, and two moth-balls dropped out.

Looking inside, she saw no sign of Yeru or the fairy, Tinkerbell. The wardrobe was full of coats hanging up, including several long fur coats. Lucy smiled, thinking of her mother's long fur coat, and stepped into the wardrobe. She rubbed her face on the furs, enjoying the sensation, and quite forgetting that her siblings would be there any moment. She left the door open, though, because she knew just how foolish it was to shut herself into a wardrobe. She had done that once, at home, and Nana had whined and barked for almost an hour before anyone had found her. Lucy still had nightmares sometimes about being shut into a tiny space in the dark.

She moved further into the wardrobe, finding a second row of coats hanging behind the first, and wondering where Yeru could have gone. It was quite dark, and she kept her arms stretched out in front of her to make sure not to bump her face on the back of the wardrobe. She took a step further in, then another, and another, expecting to feel the back of the wardrobe at any second. As she pushed deeper into the wardrobe, through the coats, Lucy noticed something crunching under her feet.  
"How many mothballs are there?" She wondered out loud.  
She stooped down to feel with her hand, but instead of feeling hard wood and mothballs, she felt something soft and powdery and cold.  
"Oh," said Lucy, finally starting to feel a little worried. "That's odd."  
She took another step forward, noticing that instead of the soft furs and coats brushing against her hands and face, there was something rough and a little prickly. 

Lucy was tempted to turn around, but she could see a light just a little way ahead of her, where the back of the wardrobe should be. She took another step forward, and then another, and then she was standing int he middle of a wood at night time, with snow under her feet and snowflakes falling through the air. She felt a little frightened, but mostly curious and excited to see what she could find in the wood inside the wardrobe. Children at that age are heartless creatures who live very much in the moment, and it simply didn't occur to Lucy that anyone might be worried about her.

She began to walk across the snowy ground and through the wood towards the light that she could still see. It took perhaps ten minutes, just enough time for Lucy to begin to get tired of walking, before she came to the source of the light. It was a lamp post, standing alone in the middle of a circle of fat old trees and even older tree stumps.

As Lucy stood there looking at the lamp post, and wondering why there was a lamp post int he middle of a forest and what to do next, she heard the rustling and commotion of someone coming through the trees. moments later, a very curious person stepped out from among the trees into the light of the lamp post. 

He was taller than Lucy, although almost everyone was taller than Lucy so that didn't surprise her very much. What surprised her was the fact that although he looked like a man from the waist upwards, his legs were very like a goat's, covered in glossy black fur, and instead of human feet he had goat-like hooves. He also had a tail, although Lucy didn't notice that at first, and he was carrying a paper bag full of groceries. Around his neck he had a red woollen scarf, and bright red mittens on his hands. His face was a little strange looking, but pleasant enough, with a short, pointed beard and curly, black hair, and also a pair of furry ears like a deer and a pair of little horns poking out from his hair at his temples. He was a faun. And when he saw Lucy, he gave such a start of surprise that he spilled half a dozen apples out of his bag of groceries.

"Goodness me!" said the faun, "Where did you come from?"


	3. What Lucy Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy finds a snow-covered forest inside a wardrobe, and meets a faun there for tea.

"Hello," said Lucy.  
The faun glanced up, but he was busy picking up his apples, so at first he did not reply. When he had finished, he stood up and gave Lucy a little nod that was not quite a bow but felt almost like one.  
"Good evening," said the faun. "Excuse me, I don't mean to pry, but are you lost perhaps? This is a very odd place to find yourself if you are not meaning to be here."  
"It is, rather, isn't it?" Said Lucy, smiling. "I'm not lost, but I'm not sure where exactly I am."  
"Not uncommon, not uncommon. Dreaming, are you? That would make sense," said the faun distractedly. "You are in fact a mortal child, are you not? What they call a human?"  
"Of course I am," said Lucy, a little puzzled.  
"Of course, yes, of course you are. of course. How stupid of me. The others always said, Tootles, you are a bit of a silly creature aren't you? But it's been so long, I wasn't sure, you see. I don't know if I've ever met a boy like you."  
"I'm a girl!" exclaimed Lucy indignantly.  
"Oh, yes, yes, a girl. A ..human girl. How strange. But I am being terribly impolite; allow me to introduce myself. I am called Tootles. What, pray, shall I call you?"  
"I'm Lucy," said Lucy. "Pleased to meet you."  
"Yes, delighted. Enchanted. Not actually enchanted though, I mean, that is to say -" and then he stopped as if he had been going to say something he had not intended but had remembered in time. "Delighted, delighted to meet you," he went on. Then he stopped, awkwardly.  
Lucy fidgeted slightly, then she said, "If you don't mind, Mr. Tootles, where am I?"  
"Oh, it's just Tootles," said Tootles. "I suspect that my father would be Mr. Tootles, if I had a father, and if Tootles was also his name. Perhaps I do. I should like to pretend it were the case. You are in the Neverland, dear Lucy, in the part which is also called Narnia. All that lies between the lamp post and the great castle of Cair Paravel on the Eastern Sea is Narnia."  
"Golly," said Lucy.  
"Have you never dreamed of the Neverland before, then?" Tootles seemed genuinely curious.  
Lucy shook her head. "If I have, I don't remember it. How would I know? I've never been here before. I think I shall dream of it in the future, though."  
"Well, that is a relief," said Tootles. "Would you care to join me for tea, dear Lucy? It is not much, but then, you are dreaming and I think i still have the knack of making food for dreams."  
"Thank you very much, Tootles," said Lucy, "But I was wondering whether I ought to be getting back."  
"But it is only just around the corner, you know, and we shall both catch cold if we stand here talking in the snow. I'm sure you know how dreams are, they go on far longer than you expect."  
"Well," said Lucy, uncertainly.  
"There will be a roaring fire, and toast, and sardines. And cake," said Tootles.  
"Well, alright then. That's very kind of you," said Lucy, "But I shan't be able to stay long."  
"Excellent," said Tootles, and transferred his bag of groceries to one arm so that he could offer her the other like a proper gentleman.  
Lucy grinned and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow in just the way that she had seen her mother do with her father, and felt terribly grown up and adventurous to be walking this way through the woods with a faun.  
  
Tootles led Lucy through the woods a little way, to a place where the ground became rough and there were rocks all about and little hills and gullies lined with snow. At the edge of one little hill, Tootles turned aside suddenly to a big, old, dead tree and Lucy thought he was going to walk straight into it, but at the last moment she found that he was leading her into a gap in the trunk like a small cave. Inside, she found that the entire tree was hollow, and sat above a cozy little cave lit by a wood fire in a grate. Tootles stooped to pick a piece of flaming wood out of the fire with neat little tongs and lit a lamp. Lucy found herself blinking in the sudden light, while Tootles put a kettle on over the fire and set his groceries down on a counter formed out of the roots of the old tree.  
  
Looking around, Lucy thought the tree cave was one of the loveliest, cosiest places she had ever been. It was clean and dry, the walls formed out of reddish stone and the insides of the old hollow tree, with a carpet on the floor and two comfortable looking chairs, a table, and a dresser, and a mantlepiece over the fire. Above that there was a picture of an old faun with a grey beard, and in one corner was a door which Lucy thought must lead to Tootles' bedroom. On one wall was a shelf full of books, although Lucy found the titles to be very strange - they were things like T_he Life and Letters of Silenus_, or _Nymphs and Their Ways_, or _Men, Monks and Gamekeepers; a Study in Popular Legend_. Some had titles in foreign languages that Lucy could not read, although she sounded out some of the words to herself.  
  
"Now, dear Lucy," said Tootles, having finished putting out the tea things, "What would you like?"  
"Oh, I don't want to be a bother," said Lucy. "I'll just have a little of whatever you're having."  
"Well, I shall put some toast on, then, while the tea steeps," said Tootles. He poured hot water from the kettle into the tea pot, then stood up to slice some bread and toast it gently over the fire.  
Lucy watched him for a minute, then she asked, "Can I help at all, Tootles?"  
"Certainly," said Tootles, "You could pour some tea. And if you think very hard about honey we might find some in the pantry. It has been a long while since I've had honey."  
This was a little confusing to Lucy, but she obediently thought about honey while she poured them each a cup of tea. Tootles came back to the table with a pile of toast just as Lucy was adding milk to her own tea.  
She smiled at him and said, "I wasn't sure how you took your tea."  
Tootles smiled back and added a little milk and a lump of sugar to his tea. He said, "That is perfectly understandable, as I hadn't told you. Do you take sugar?"  
"No, thank you," said Lucy.  
"Well then, let us see if there will be honey for the toast," said Tootles, and got up to check the contents of a shelf above the counter where he had placed his bag of groceries.  
A moment later he came and sat down again, and said sadly, "No honey, I'm afraid. We shall have to make do with butter and sardines."  
  
The tea was quite lovely. Tootles brought out a dish of sardines and another dish of creamy butter to eat on their toast, and sliced up one of the apples as well, and then a sugar topped cake. And if Tootles gave Lucy some strange looks while she ate, she pretended not to see them. After all, a human must be almost as strange to a faun as a faun was to her. When Lucy tired of eating, the faun began to tell her stories of life in the forest. He told her about the midnight dances, and how the nymphs who live dint he wells and streams and the dryads who lived in the trees would come out to dance with the fauns; about long hunting parties after the milk-white Stag who could give you wishes if you caught him; about feasting and treasure-seeking with the wild Red Dwarfs in deep mines and caverns far beneath the forest floor; and then about summer when the woods were green and old Silenus on his fat donkey would come to visit them, and sometimes Bacchus himself, and then the streams would run with wine instead of water and the whole forest would give itself up to jollification for weeks on end.  
"Not that it isn't always winter now," he added gloomily.  
Then to cheer himself up he took out from its case on the dresser a strange little flute that looked as if it were made of straw and began to play. The flute was very like the one that Lucy had seen Yeru playing, or dreamed she saw Yeru playing, in the window the previous night. She was terribly curious, but the tun that Tootles played was entirely distracting. It made Lucy want to cry and laugh and dance and go to sleep all at the same time.  
  
It must have been hours later when she shook herself and said, "Oh, Tootles, I am so sorry to stop you. I do love that tune, I do, but I really must go home. I only meant to stay for a few minutes."  
"It's no good _now_, you know," said the faun, laying down his flute and shaking his head at her very sorrowfully.  
"What do you mean?" Said Lucy, jumping up and feeling rather frightened. "I must go home at once. The others will be wondering where I am."  
A moment later she asked, "Why, Tootles, whatever is the matter?" Because the faun's big, brown eyes had filled with tears, which began trickling down his cheeks, and then running off the end of his nose. At last he covered his face and began to sob.  
Lucy jumped up in great distress and said, "Tootles! Tootles, what is the matter? Aren't you well? Do tell me what is wrong, please." But even when Lucy went over and put her arm around the faun, and lent him her handkerchief, he continued to sob as if his heart was breaking.  
"I - I am a bad faun," Tootles wailed.  
"I don't think you are a bad faun at all," said Lucy encouragingly. "I think you are the nicest faun I have ever met."  
"Oh, oh you wouldn't say that if you knew what I had done," replied Tootles between sobs. "I am a terrible faun. I don't suppose there was ever a worse faun since the beginning of the world."  
"But why? What have you done?"  
"Ah, dear Lucy," sobbed the faun, "What have I not done? That is what you must ask yourself. What have I not done, since I took service with the White Witch. That is what I am, a sorry excuse for a faun indeed, in the pay of Winter."  
"The White Witch? Who is she?"  
"Why she is the Mistress of Winter, the Queen of Air and Darkness herself, who has all of Narnia under her thumb. It is she that makes it always winter. Always winter and never Christmas!"  
"How awful," said Lucy. "But what does she pay you for? My daddy says that sometimes we must do things for people who aren't terribly nice, even if we don't like them, because otherwise the entire world might grind to a halt. Would Narnia grind to a halt without the White Witch, Tootles?"  
"No, dear Lucy," and Tootles laughed a little through his tears, though he continued to sob as well, "No, it is the claws of the White Witch that have dragged Narnia to a halt. But I cannot speak of it, I cannot. I am as guilty as she. We all are, who work for her."  
"But what do you do that is so bad, Tootles?" Asked Lucy.  
"That is the worst of it," said Tootles with a deep groan. "I am a kidnapper for her. A terror in the night, that's what I am, no better than her wolves and shadows. You wouldn't think, to look at me, that I was the sort of faun to meet a child in the woods and pretend to be friendly with it, invite it home to my cave, all for the sake of lulling it to sleep and then handing it over to the White Witch, would you?"  
"No," said Lucy, "I wouldn't think that you would do anything like that."  
"But I have," sailed the faun. "I'm no better than Pan."  
"Well," said Lucy slowly, wanting to be truthful and yet not be too hard on her new friend, "I don't know who that is. But no matter how bad it sounds, you're sorry for it. I'm sure you'll never do it again."  
"Dear Lucy, don't you understand?" Wailed Tootles, caught up in a fresh burst of sobbing and tears, "It isn't something I have done, I am doing it right now, this very moment. Any moment we shall hear the crowing, and he will be here to take you away to the White Witch."  
"What do you mean?" Asked Lucy, turning white.  
"You are that child, dear Lucy, the very first mortal child I have ever met. I am not like Pan, I cannot fly to the mortal world to find dreamers to bring back, I must wait for them to wander here of their own accord. None do, not since it has been winter all the time. She knows, but I have my orders. If any mortal comes here, I must catch them and hand them over. And so I pretended to be your friend, and invited you to tea, meaning all the time to wait until you were asleep and then go and tell her."  
"Oh, but you won't," Said Lucy anxiously. "You won't, will you Tootles? You mustn't."  
"And if I don't," said Tootles, "She's sure to find out. She knows everything that happens, sooner or later. Even some of the trees are on her side now. They've forgotten what summer is like. She'll have my tail cut off and my horns burned off, and if she's especially angry she'll turn me to stone and I'll be a statue until the thrones of Cair Paravel are filled - and only Summer knows when that will be, or if it will ever happen at all."  
"I'm very sorry, Tootles," said Lucy, her voice shaking a little, "But please let me go home."  
"Of course I will," said the faun. "Of course. I have to. I see that now. I can't give you up to the Witch now that I know you. I only wish - well, never mind. I'll see you back to the lamp post. I suppose you can find your way home from there?"  
"I'm sure I can" said Lucy, "But - what do you wish?"  
"Oh, it's no matter," said the faun, drying his eyes on his borrowed handkerchief. "I only wish that you'd been able to meet me in summer, when you could have come and danced with us all night. This is likely a terrible dream for you."  
"It's not a dream, Tootles," said Lucy, "But even if it were, it wouldn't be a terrible one. I met you, after all."  
The faun blushed bright red, and coughed. Then he said, "We must go quickly, as quietly as we can. The wood is full of her spies."  
  
They both got up, and Tootles gave Lucy his arm like before as they went out into the snow. The journey back was not at all like the journey to the faun's cave; they stole along quickly, without speaking a word, looking furtively around. Tootles kept to the darkest places, and made them walk over rocks whenever he could. Lucy was relieved when they got back to the lamp post again.  
"Do you know your way from here, dear Lucy?" Asked Tootles.  
Lucy looked hard between the trees, and could just see in the distance a patch of light that looked like daylight. "Yes," she said, "I can see the door in the wardrobe from here."  
"Then be off home as fast as you can," said Tootles, "And - can you ever forgive me for what I meant to do?"  
"Of course I can," said Lucy, standing on tiptoe to give him a kiss on his cheek, "And I hope you don't get into too much trouble on my account."  
An odd, warbling cry sounded through the trees, like some sort of strange bird, and Tootles looked nervously around. "Go," he said, "Farewell, dear Lucy. Perhaps I might keep the handkerchief?"  
"Yes, of course," said Lucy, and waved at him as she ran off towards the far-off light as fast as her legs could carry her. And presently, instead of rough branches and undergrowth brushing past her, she felt coats and soft furs, and instead of crunching snow underfoot she felt wooden boards, and all at once she found herself leaping out of the wardrobe into the same empty room that she had begun from. She shut the wardrobe door tightly behind her and looked around, panting for breath. It was still raining and she could hear the voices of the others in the passage.  
"I'm here," she shouted. "I'm here. I've come back, I'm all right."


	4. Edmund and the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy finds her way back, and Edmund finds his way into Neverland for the first time and meets the Queen of Winter.

Lucy dashed out of the empty room and into the passage beyond, chasing the receding footsteps of her siblings.  
“It’s all right,” she repeated, “I’m here! I came back.”  
"What on earth are you talking about, Lucy?" asked Susan.  
Lucy looked at her sister in confusion. “Haven’t you all been wondering where I was?”  
“No,” said Edmund.  
“You’ve been hiding, have you?” Said Peter. “Sorry, Lu. We didn’t realise. You might have to hide for longer than that if you want people to start looking for you.”  
"But I've been away for hours and hours," said Lucy.  
The others all stared at one another.  
"Batty!" said Edmund tapping his head. "Sad, but true. Off with the fairies."  
"What do you mean, Lu?" Asked Peter.  
"Just what I said," answered Lucy. "We were exploring the house, just after breakfast. I went into the wardrobe, and I’ve been away for hours and hours, and had tea, and met some very strange people, and all sorts of things have happened. Don’t you believe me?”  
"Don't be silly, Lucy," said Susan. "We've only just come out of that room a moment ago, and you were there with us then."  
"She's not being silly," said Peter, "She's just making up a story for fun, aren't you, Lu? Like a game of make-believe. And why shouldn't she?"  
"No, Peter, I'm not," she said. "I’m really not. It's - it's a magic wardrobe. There's a wood inside it, and it's snowing, and there’s a faun who lives in a little house inside a hollow tree, and dryads, and mermaids in the lagoon, and ever so many things; come and see."  
The others did not know what to think, but Lucy was so excited that they all went back with her into the room. She rushed ahead of them, flung open the door of the wardrobe and cried, "Go in and see for yourselves!"  
  
It almost worked. Edmund scoffed, but he was still young enough that if the others had gone ahead, he would have believed it, and gone right along with them. Peter was almost convinced, even though he was so much older than them, for little boys are good at playing make-believe for far longer than little girls often are. The trouble was Susan, who did not believe in magic wardrobes, nor in fairies or snake-oil cures, or fauns, or dryads. She might, just possibly, almost believe in mermaids, but she would never have admitted to it. Susan wanted very badly to be just like her mother, and though Wendy Pevensie had her moments of whimsy, she was ultimately a very practical woman, as she had to be to raise four children with only a Newfoundland dog for a nurse. Susan was trying so very hard to be as practical and grown-up as her mother that she quite disabled the wardrobe’s magic, the way bright sunlight and logic will often disable fairy magics until you look at them sideways again and find the soft edges of the world where they can flare back into life.  
  
"Why, you goose," said Susan, putting her head inside and pulling the fur coats apart, "it's just an ordinary wardrobe, look! there's the back of it."  
Then all four of them looked in, pulling the coats apart to see clearly, and they all saw that it was a perfectly ordinary wardrobe. Lucy herself saw, and it made something in the back of her throat tighten up in hurt and her eyes burn a little with unshed tears to see it. There was no wood and no snow, only the back of the wardrobe, with hooks on it. Peter went in and rapped his knuckles on it to make sure that it was solid.  
"A jolly good hoax, Lu," he said as he came out again, "You have really taken us in, I must admit. We half believed you."  
"But it wasn't a hoax," said Lucy, "Truly. It was all different a moment ago. It was, honestly. I promise."  
"Come on, Lu," said Peter, "that's enough, now, isn’t it? You've had your joke. We all enjoyed it, but hadn't you better drop it now?"  
Lucy grew very red in the face and tried to say something, though she hardly knew what she was trying to say, and burst into tears.

* * *

For the next few days Lucy was very miserable. She could have made up with the others quite easily if she could have brought herself to say that the whole thing was only a story made up for fun. But Lucy was a very truthful girl and she knew that she was really in the right; and she could not bring herself to say this. It made her terribly unhappy that the others thought she was telling a lie, and a silly lie at that. Peter and Susan did this without meaning to, but Edmund could be spiteful in the way that only children who have never been on the receiving end of this sort of spite can be, and on this occasion he was spiteful. He sneered and jeered at Lucy and kept on asking her if she'd found any other new countries in other cupboards all over the house.  
  
Twice, Lucy dreamed that the strange boy, Yeru, was there in the window, playing his little shepherd’s flute, but he was never there when she woke. In her dreams, she wandered through snowy valleys and along the shores of an ice-encrusted lagoon, where a single, large, white bird a bit like a pelican nested on a rock far out in the choppy water. She climbed the branches of big, old pine trees and found curious, tiny flowers growing in pockets of soil held in the crooks of branches, well off the ground, or nut caches left by squirrels that hadn’t yet returned to collect their bounty. Lucy would wake up full to the brim with stories, bursting to tell Susan all about them, certain that her dreams had led her to Narnia again – and then she would remember that her sister thought she was a silly liar, and so she didn’t say anything.  
  
What made it worse was that these days ought to have been delightful. The weather was fine and they were out of doors from morning to night, bathing, fishing, climbing trees, birds' nesting, and lying in the heather. But Lucy could not properly enjoy any of it. And so things went on until the next wet day.  
  
All morning, Susan and Peter had been reading, and Peter had been practicing some of his mathematics from school. That left Lucy and Edmund to amuse themselves together, which led to a certain amount of bickering.  
Eventually, Susan looked up from her book and said, “Why don’t we do something interesting until lunch. We could play a game?”  
She did love her sister, and although she still thought that Lucy was being silly about the wardrobe, Susan didn’t like to see Edmund going on about it so.  
“Yes please!” Said Lucy.  
Susan grinned. “What shall we play? Peter?”  
Peter looked up from his notebook, and took in the three eager faces turned in his direction. He said, “Hmm. How about hide and go seek?”  
“Can we?” Asked Lucy.  
“Oh yes, let’s,” said Susan. “I’ll be ‘it’ first. Go on, all of you, go and hide! I’ll count to twenty.”  
Then she shut her eyes and put her hands over them so that she couldn’t peep even if she wanted to – which she didn’t, for Susan was a diligent child and appreciated fairness above almost anything else – and began counting. The other three got up straight away and scattered to hide.  
  
Lucy did not mean to hide in the wardrobe. She knew it would only set the others talking again about the whole wretched business, when she would have preferred that they all forget it entirely. She did want to have one more look inside, though – for by this time, she was beginning to wonder if perhaps the forest behind the furs, and Tootles the faun and all of the Neverland had been a dream of some sort. But as soon as she reached the empty room that held the wardrobe she heard steps in the passage outside, and there was nothing for it but to jump into the wardrobe and hold the door closed behind her. She did not shut it properly because she knew that it is very silly to shut oneself into a wardrobe, even if it is not a magic one.  
  
The steps that Lucy heard were not actually Susan, who had only counted to fifteen by this stage because she was counting slowly so as to leave time for her siblings to find good hiding places, but Edmund. He came into the room just in time to see Lucy vanishing into the wardrobe, and at once decided to get into it himself. This was not because he thought it a particularly good place to hide, but more because he wanted to go on teasing his sister about her imaginary country.  
  
Edmund pulled open the wardrobe. There were the coats and furs hanging up as usual, a smell of mothballs, and darkness and silence, and no sign of Lucy.  
“Hah,” he muttered to himself, “She thinks I'm Susan, come to find her.”  
He stepped into the wardrobe, intending to find his sister where she must be, keeping very quiet at the back, and shut the door behind him – forgetting what a completely foolish thing this is to do.  
  
Then he began feeling about for Lucy in the dark. He had expected to find her in a few seconds and was very surprised when he did not. He decided to open the door again and let in some light. But he could not find the door either. Edmund didn’t like this at all, and began to feel a little frightened, and to grope wildly in every direction.  
Forgetting Susan and the game of hide and seek for the moment, he shouted, "Lucy! Lu! Where are you? I know you're here."  
  
There was no answer, for Lucy had discovered that without the disbelief of her elder siblings, the magic of the wardrobe had returned full force and let her through into the snowy woods of Narnia. She was utterly delighted, and ran off immediately to see if her dreams had been of actual places in the woods, and if she could find some of them. She had a vague idea that if she brought something back with her this time, an acorn perhaps, or a flower, then Susan and Peter and Edmund would _have_ to believe her.  
  
Edmund called again, and he noticed that his voice had an odd sound, not the sound you expect in a cupboard but a kind of echoing, open-air sound. He also noticed that he was quite cold.  
When he saw a light, he went towards it straight away, saying to himself, “Thank goodness. The door must have swung open on its own!”  
He forgot all about Lucy, and hurried towards the light. But instead of stepping out of the wardrobe into the spare room, he found himself stepping out from the shadow of some thick fir trees into an open place in the middle of a wood.  
  
Edmund stared around. There was a crisp, dry snow under his feet, and more snow lying on the branches of the trees. Overhead, the sky was a fine pale blue, like Mother’s best china, or an early morning in winter. Straight ahead of him, between the tree trunks, he could see the sun just rising, red and golden. The entire forest was perfectly still, with not even a robin or a squirrel moving or making a sound, although there was just a hint of wood smoke on the air. The wood stretched as far as he could see in every direction.  
  
“Lucy,” he called, remembering that he had been looking for her, and recalling how unpleasant he had been to her about her ‘imaginary country’, which turned out to be not nearly so imaginary. “Lucy, I’m here too! It’s Edmund!”  
There was no reply, and in the still, cold air, Edmund shivered.  
“She’s angry about all the things I’ve been saying,” said Edmund to himself. He did not much like to admit that he might have been wrong, but he also did not much like being alone in this strange, cold, quiet place, and so he called again, “Lucy! I say, Lu, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I see now you were right all along. Do come out.”  
Still there was no answer.  
"Just like a girl," muttered Edmund, "Sulking somewhere, and won't accept an apology."  
Of course he was not correct; Lucy would have happily accepted his apology, even knowing (and she did know) that Edmund mostly only apologised in order to get his own way. But at that moment, Lucy had climbed into the branches of a kind, old fir tree which sheltered not only a cache of squirrel nuts but also a tiny bird’s next, lined with down and entirely empty except for a little piece of egg-shell and a blue feather.  
  
Edmund shivered again, and looked around. He felt that he did not much like this place, and had almost made up his mind to go home when he heard, far off in the woods, the sound of bells. The sound came nearer and nearer as he listened, and at last there swept into view a sleigh drawn by two milk white reindeer. Their branching horns were gilded, and shone like fire when the sunrise caught them, and their hair was so pale that it made the snow seem to have a touch of colour by comparison. Their harnesses were a deep, dark forest green with golden bells all the way along them. On the sleigh, driving the reindeer, sat a gnarled little man who couldn’t have been more than about three feet high. He was dressed in a motley of furs, spotted and striped like a collection of small animals, except for the bright red hood he wore on his head. Behind him, on a much higher seat in the middle of the sleigh, sat a gloriously beautiful lady, taller and more regal than any woman that Edmund had ever seen. Her hair was as black as India ink, and she was covered in white fur up to her throat. In her left hand she held a long, straight, golden wand with a wicked point on the end of it – and if Edmund had known just a little more about a great many things, he might have called it a spear, like the short stabbing spears used by the tribesmen of Africa, rather than a wand – and on her head she wore a golden crown.  
  
The lady's face was so very pale that she looked like she might be made of snow, or something whiter than snow, like icing sugar or chalk. Whiter even than the reindeer, which themselves seemed dirty and dun by comparison to her. Everything about her was so pale she seemed almost to shine with it, like frost on a winter morning, except for her mouth, which was very, terribly red, and her ink black hair. She looked very beautiful, but also proud and stern, and a little cruel.  
  
Her eyes were also coloured, pale blue like meltwater, and they met Edmund's as the sleigh came sweeping through the woods with bells jingling, and the little man cracking his whip, and snow flying up on each side of it.  
"Stop!" Said the lady, and the little man pulled up the reindeer so sharply that they almost sat down.  
The reindeer recovered themselves and stood champing at their bits and breathing hard, while the lady stared at Edmund, and he stared back. In the cold air, the reindeer's breath steamed, making it look as if they had smoke coming out of their nostrils.  
"How unexpected," said the lady, coldly. "What, pray, are you that you stand there gawking like a misplaced foal?"  
"I - I'm - my name's Edmund," said Edmund awkwardly. He wasn't sure that he liked the way the lady looked at him, and he certainly did not like the way her driver looked at him, all crooked and grinning as if he knew a secret.  
The lady frowned, very slightly. "Your.. name," she said, giving Edmund a hard look.  
"Yes," he said. When she stared at him sternly, he added, "Ma'am," because he wasn't an entirely unmannerly child and although he wasn't sure what he could have done, he thought that perhaps he had somehow offended the lady.  
"Is that how you address a Queen?" She asked, her eyes glittering spitefully.  
"I beg your pardon, your Majesty, I didn't know," said Edmund.  
She laughed, wild and gay and cruel as frost. Then she said, "You shall know us better hereafter. But I repeat - what are you, Edmund?"  
"Please, your Majesty," said Edmund, "I don't know what you mean. I'm at school - at least I was. It's the holidays now."  
If Edmund had been a little wiser, he might stopped there. Or he might have told the Queen any number of things that were not lies, but were not entirely the truth either. he could perhaps have said 'I am a Pevensie', or 'I am a student', or even 'I am nine', for he was. But what he actually said was, "I'm just a boy."  
  
The Queen smiled at him, then.


	5. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmund converses with the Queen of Winter, and eats some enchanted Turkish Delight; Lucy finds that her brother has come to Narnia as well, and is terribly excited to have his support in convincing Peter and Susan that Narnia is real.

"Do you mean to say that you are a human?" Asked the Queen.  
Edmund stood still, saying nothing. He was too confused by this time to understand what the question meant.   
"I see you are an idiot, whatever else you may be," said the Queen. "Answer me, once and for all, or I shall lose my patience. What manner of creature are you? Are you human?"   
"Yes, your Majesty," said Edmund, shivering and confused. “Aren’t – aren’t you?”  
“No, of course not! Now, tell me, how did you come to enter my domain?”  
“Please, your majesty, I came in through a wardrobe.”  
“A wardrobe,” said the Queen. “I see.”  
Her driver chuckled, and similar mean chuckles echoed from the undergrowth around Edmund. He looked around a little frantically, although there was nothing there to see. This is because the wolves who accompanied the Queen’s sleigh were experts in camouflage, and unless the Queen ordered otherwise they stayed hidden in the woods surrounding her, as her guards and spies. Their chief, an old and grizzled dire wolf with a silver muzzle and one missing eye, made sure to keep the younger pups from showing themselves or making trouble. Fang was his name, after the sharp steel fangs that the Witch had given him when he lost his natural teeth in a fight with a dragon.

“It’s true!” Said Edmund desperately. He didn’t realise just how much he sounded like Lucy, or he would have felt a little sorrier for teasing her so much.  
“Do explain yourself,” said the Queen, inspecting her nails as if she had almost no interest in anything he might say, and was merely humouring him. This was not, strictly, the truth, as she was in fact quite interested in how a human child had come to the Neverland.  
"I - I opened a door and just found myself here, your Majesty," said Edmund.   
"Ha!" said the Queen, speaking more to herself than to him. "A door. A door from the world of men! I have heard of such things. That old fool will doubtless be involved in this, but he is only one, and he is easily dealt with."   
She said these words far too softly for Edmund to hear them, but he did hear her tone of voice, and it made him rather dislike her for she sounded terribly cold and self-absorbed. And for all that Edmund was also rather self-absorbed, he knew well enough that it was not a pleasant trait at all, especially in anyone other than oneself.

The Queen rose from her seat, letting her fur robe fall to the side and revealing a gown of green velvet so dark that it looked almost black. She looked Edmund full in the face, her eyes flaming, and raised her wand to point the sharp end of it towards him. Edmund felt sure that she was going to do something dreadful but he seemed unable to move. Then, just as he gave himself up for lost, she appeared to change her mind.   
"My poor child," she said in quite a different voice, all soft and gentle as snowflakes, "how cold you look! Come and sit with me here and I will put my mantle around you and we will talk."  
Edmund did not like this arrangement at all, but he was too afraid to disobey. He slowly walked up to the sleigh and stepped onto it. The Queen sat down, and Edmund stood there awkwardly for a moment before he sat down at her feet. She wrapped a fold of her fur mantle around him and tucked it in well, and it was rather nice to be warm again. Edmund wouldn’t have said that he liked it at all, but he did think that it might be terribly nice to have a fur mantle like that if one was going to be wandering about in the snow so early in the morning.  
"Perhaps something hot to drink?" said the Queen. "Should you like that?"   
"Yes please, your Majesty," said Edmund, whose teeth were chattering as he slowly warmed up.

Now, there is a thing that Edmund didn’t know about the Neverland, of which Narnia is but a small part, and that is that it is one of the lands of the fairies. As such, it is a very risky business to accept food or drink when you are there, although it is only slightly less risky to refuse it if you are offered hospitality. Lucy also didn’t know this, but Lucy was also far too kind to have refused Tootles’ invitation to tea even if she had known. Edmund might well have said no to the offer of a hot drink, but alas, he didn’t know that there was any more to it than there seemed to be.

The Queen reached into her mantle, to some hidden pocket, and withdrew a very small bottle which seemed to be made of copper. Holding out her arm, she carefully let a single drop fall from the bottle onto the snow beside the sleigh. Edmund saw the drop for a second in mid-air, shining like a diamond. It hit the snow with a hissing sound, and a spider web of light glittered there for a second like frost on a window-pane, then it was gone. In its place there stood a jewelled cup full of something that steamed. The gnarled little man who was the Queen’s driver stooped to pick up the cup and handed it to Edmund with a bow and a smile; it was not a very nice smile, but Edmund did not much care by now. He took the cup, warming his fingers on it, and he felt much better as he began to sip the hot drink. It was something he had never tasted before, very sweet and foamy and creamy, and it warmed him right down to his toes.  
“How odd you are, human creature, to drink without eating,” said the Queen after a moment. “Would you not care for food also?”  
“Oh, yes please, your Majesty,” said Edmund, who had quite forgotten that he did not exactly trust the Queen or her driver.  
“What would you like best to eat?” Asked the Queen kindly, which really should have given Edmund pause, since kindness without cause from such a stern and cold person as the Queen of Winter is an uncommon thing indeed.  
"Turkish Delight, please, your Majesty," said Edmund.   
The Queen let another drop fall from her bottle on to the snow, and Edmund thought that perhaps the potion which she poured out looked more like glass, or ice, than like diamonds. He did not have long to think on it, though, for instantly when the drop feel onto the snow there appeared a round box, tied with green silk ribbon, which, when opened, turned out to contain a generous amount of the best Turkish Delight. Each piece was sweet and light to the very centre and Edmund had never tasted anything more delicious. He felt quite warm now, and very comfortable. 

While he was eating the Queen kept asking him questions. At first, Edmund tried to pay attention, and to remember that it is rude to speak with one’s mouth full, but he soon forgot about this and thought only of trying to eat as much Turkish Delight as he could, as quickly as possible. It is a truth that the food of Neverland can be quite overwhelming to a mortal who has never eaten it before, and magical food even more so. It is also true that the Turkish Delight the Queen had given Edmund was enchanted so that anyone who had once tasted it would want more and more of it, and would even, if they were allowed, go on eating it till they killed themselves. The more of it that Edmund ate, the more he wanted to eat, and he did not question that, or why the Queen should be so inquisitive.  
“How did you find this doorway, human? This ‘wardrobe’?” Asked the Queen.  
“I was following Lucy,” said Edmund, although it came out a little garbled as his mouth was full of Turkish Delight.  
“And who is that?”  
Edmund scowled. “My baby sister,” he said. “But she’s sulking somewhere.”  
“She has come here too?” The Queen wanted to know, and so Edmund told her.

He told her, without quite realising it because the Queen was very cunning, and also very charming when she chose to be, that he had one brother and two sisters, of which Lucy was one, and that she had come to Narnia before, and met Tootles the faun there, and had told them about it when she got back. When she raised a stern and questioning eyebrow, Edmund was quick to reassure her that Lucy had not told anyone else, and so no one except for himself and his brother and sisters knew anything about Narnia or the Neverland. He did not intend to, but Edmund did make rather a fool of himself as he regained his confidence and began to speak in his normal, slightly pompous way.

The Queen seemed fascinated in the fact that there were four of them, and kept on returning to it.  
“You are sure there are just four of you?” She asked. “Neither more nor less?”  
Edmund, with his mouth full of Turkish Delight, said, “Yes, I told you that before,” and forgot to call her ‘your Majesty’, although she didn’t seem to mind so much now.  
“How very curious,” said the Queen.  
Edmund didn’t know what to make of that, and so instead he crammed the last of the Turkish Delight from the box into his mouth.  
The Queen glanced at him with mild distaste, and said, “I should very much like to meet your brother and sisters. Will you bring them to see me?”  
Edmund, who was at this moment staring wistfully at the empty box and wishing that the Queen would ask him if he would like some more Turkish Delight, didn’t answer immediately.  
When the Queen’s driver roughly cleared his throat, Edmund looked up, and realised that she had asked him a question. He said, “I’ll try.”  
“If you did,” said the Queen, in a sweet and wheedling tone, “If you did come again, bringing them with you of course, I would be able to give you some more Turkish Delight. I couldn’t do so now, not safely. But in my own house I would be happy to give you some.”  
This was not quite a lie. It was quite true to say that giving Edmund any more of the enchanted Turkish Delight would not be safe, any more than giving him the first box of it had been safe for him. Enchanted food is nto a safe thing for humans to eat at all, and it would be no safer for Edmund to eat in the Queen’s house than it would be anywhere else - but she had not actually said that it would, only that she would be happy to give him some.  
"Why can't we go to your house now?" Said Edmund.   
When he had first got on to the sleigh he had been afraid that she might drive away with him to some unknown place from which he would not be able to get back, but he had forgotten about that fear now. This is often the way with fairies.  
“It is not the right time, now,” said the Queen. “Thought my house is a lovely place, and I am sure you would like it. There are entire rooms filled with Turkish Delight –” and when she said this, her words made it so, although there had been no such rooms in her house before she said so, “And what’s more, I have no children of my own. I should so like to find a child that I could keep and bring up as a Prince, who could be my companion and become the King of Narnia in time. He would wear a golden crown, and he might eat whatever delicacies he liked – why, he could even eat Turkish Delight all day long if he desired.”  
“Oh, do you think I might be that boy?” Asked Edmund, his mind full of images of rooms full of Turkish Delight.  
“Perhaps,” said the Queen. “You are rather handsome and brave, and these are qualities I admire.”  
This was also not exactly a lie, for although Edmund did not look at all handsome or brave right at that moment, with his mouth and hands all sticky from the Turkish Delight, and his hair all tangled from pushing through the trees, he was a rather good looking boy normally. He had his mother’s fine, pale hair, and his father’s strong chin, and a cheery sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks which were all his own. When he smiled, which was not as often as he should, he was quite charming. And although Edmund did not think of himself as brave, there were a great many boys who would have fled through the woods and been, as a result, torn apart by the Queen’s wolves rather than come and sit at her feet when she invited them to do so.  
“Why not now?” Said Edmund.  
“You must bring the others to visit me first,” said the Queen. “If I took you to my house now, you might forget all about them, and I do so want to meet your charming relations. If you were to become my Prince, and perhaps, later on, King, then you would need courtiers and nobles. I could make your brother a Duke, and your sisters Duchesses.”  
"There's nothing special about them," said Edmund, "And, anyway, I could always bring them some other time."  
“Ah, but once you were in my house, you would be far too busy enjoying my hospitality to want to bother of going to fetch them. No. You must go back to your own country now and come to me another day. With them, you understand. It is no good coming without them."   
"But I don't even know the way back to my own country," pleaded Edmund.   
"That is easy," answered the Queen. "Do you see that lamp?" She pointed with her wand and Edmund turned and saw the same lamp-post under which Lucy had met Tootles the faun. "Straight on, beyond that, is the way to the mortal world. And now look the other way" - here she pointed in the opposite direction - "And tell me if you can see two little hills rising above the trees."   
"I think I can," said Edmund.   
"You will find my house between those two hills. So when you come to see me with your sisters and your brother, you have only to find the lamp post, then look for those two hills and walk through the wood towards them until you reach my house. But remember, you must bring the others with you. I might have to be very angry with you if you came alone.”  
"I'll do my best," said Edmund.  
“Very well,” said the Queen. Then she leaned down towards Edmund, smiling as if she were going to share a great secret, and she said, “Of course, you needn’t tell them about me. It would be far more fun if it were a surprise for them, wouldn’t it? It can be our secret.”  
“But what should I tell them?” Asked Edmund.  
“Oh, I’m sure a clever boy like you will easily think of something,” she said. “Just bring them along to the two hills, and when you come to my house you could just say ‘Let’s see who lives here’ or something like that. After all, if your sister has met a faun, she may have heard strange stories about me. Fauns will say anything, you know, and they can be quite nasty. Now –“  
But here Edmund forgot his manners entirely, and said to the Queen, “Please, please might I have just one piece of Turkish Delight to eat on the way home?”  
“No, I’m afraid not,” said the Queen with a laugh, “You must wait until next time.”

She stood again, pulling her mantle from around Edmund, and so he stood as well. It was very cold after the warmth of the Queen’s fur mantle, and Edmund shivered a little.  
“Go home now,” said the Queen, and even Edmund thought that she sounded just a little as if she were speaking to a stray dog that had wandered up to her rather than to a human boy.  
He stepped out of the sleigh, and the Queen at once signalled to her driver to drive on. He cracked his whip, startling the reindeer into motion as the Queen sat back down. A series of rustling sounds from the bushes were the only indication that the Queen’s wolves had moved off along with her, but they had. Fang led them, his dark, curly coat like a shadow on the snow, and after him ran Skylights and Smee, and then Scourie, and Cecco, and Robert Mullins, and Black, who was so huge that he looked more a bear than a wolf at times. At the rear came Cookson and Bill Jukes, and Gentleman Starkey who liked to think of himself as dainty and fastidious, and spent almost as much of his time grooming himself as if he had been a cat.

As the sleigh swept out of sight, the Queen turned to wave at Edmund, calling out, “Next time! Don’t forget. Come soon!”  
And she laughed again, a terrible, beautiful sound full of delight, and blew him a kiss. It landed on Edmund’s cheekbone like a snowflake, and clung there for a second before it worked its way under his skin and into his blood like a tiny needle of ice. So perhaps the Queen was beign entirely truthful when she had said she might like to keep Edmund as her Prince, for it is well known that the Queen of Winter only puts ice into the heart of people she means to hold onto forever.

Edmund was still staring after the sleigh, his hand on his cheek where the kiss had melted, when he heard someone calling his name. Looking around, he saw Lucy come running towards him, grinning, her face flushed from the cold.  
“Oh, Edmund!” She cried. “You got in too! I would have waited if I had known. Isn’t it wonderful?”  
“It’s alright,” said Edmund, a little grudgingly. “I see you were right, and it is a magic wardrobe after all. I’ll even say sorry if you like. But where have you been? I was looking for you everywhere!”  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise,” said Lucy, who was far too happy and excited to notice how snappishly Edmund spoke or how flushed and strange his face was. "I met with dear tootles again, and we had lunch, although it was breakfast for him, and he’s very well and the White Witch hasn’t done anything to him for letting me go, so he thinks she can't have found out and perhaps everything is going to be all right after all."  
"The White Witch?" said Edmund, "Who's she?"   
“She calls herself the Queen of Narnia,” said Lucy, “But she isn’t, not properly. She’s a perfectly terrible person; she is the one who’s made it always winter in Narnia, and she turns people to stone. All the fauns and dryads and naiaids and the animals – at least the good ones – hate her. She drives about in a sledge drawn by reindeer, with her wand in her hand and a crown on her head, and she has a pack of wolves who follow her around and bully people for her!”

Edmund was already feeling a little ill from having eaten too many sweets, and when he heard that the fine lady he had made friends with was a dangerous witch he felt even more uncomfortable. But he still craved another taste of that enchanted Turkish Delight more than anything else in the world.  
“Who told you all of that rubbish about the White Witch?” He asked.  
“Tootles the faun,” said Lucy. “He used to be one of the Lost Boys, back before it was winter all the time.”  
“You can’t always believe what fauns say,” said Edmund snootily, trying to sound as if he knew far more about it than Lucy.  
“Who said so?” Asked Lucy.  
"Everyone knows it," said Edmund, "Ask anybody you like. But in any case, it’s pretty cold out here in the snow. Let's go home."   
"Yes, let's," said Lucy, choosing not to argue although she did not agree with her brother on the matter of fauns. "Oh Edmund, I’m so glad you came here too. The others will have to believe in Narnia now that both of us have been here. Maybe we can all come back next time. It will be such fun!”

Edmund secretly thought that it would not be as good fun for him as for her. He would have to admit that Lucy had been right, which he did not like one bit, and he was not at all sure that they would like it when he was made a Prince and they were only named Duke or Duchess. Besides which, Edmund felt sure the others would all be on the side of the fauns and the animals; but he was already more than half on the side of the Witch. He did not know what he would say, or how he would keep his secret once they were all talking about Narnia. 

By this time they had walked a good way through the prickly fir trees, and then suddenly they were walking through furs and coats instead of branches, and next moment they were both standing outside the wardrobe in the empty room.   
"I say," said Lucy, "You look awful, Edmund. Don't you feel well?"   
"I'm all right," said Edmund, but this was not true. He was feeling very sick indeed, and did not feel better until well after dinner that evening.   
"Come on then," said Lucy, "Let's find the others and tell them! What wonderful adventures we shall have now that we're all in it together." 


	6. The Lion's Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy speaks to Yeru again, and Peter and Susan fail to find the gateway to Narnia for a second time, but the third time.. that's another matter entirely.

It took Edmund and Lucy a little while to find the others, since the game of hide and seek was still going on. Every time they would go into a room, they would find that Susan had only just left it searching for them. When they passed through the room that Peter was hiding in, he stayed hidden. Only moments later, though, he thought better of it and left his hiding spot to try to join them and find out why they weren’t hiding. He was too slow, though, and so did not quite catch up to Edmund and Lucy just as they did not quite catch up to Susan. In this way the four of them followed one another around the house for some time, and the Professor thought it was some new game that they had made when he saw them passing one after another through the rooms of the house.

When at last they were all together (which happened in the long room, where the suit of armour was) Lucy burst out, “Peter! Susan! We have been looking for you for ever so long. It’s all true! Edmund has seen it too!”  
“What is all true, Lu?” Asked Peter.  
At the same time, Susan said, “Did you think that you were ‘it’, Lu? Ed? I’ve been looking for you, too.”  
“The magic wardrobe,” said Lucy. “Edmund went through it too! There is a country that you can get to that way, Edmund and I both got in! We met one another there, in the woods. Go on, Edmund; tell them about it.”  
"What's all this about, Ed?" said Peter. 

For a very long few minutes, Edmund was tempted to tell a lie, to let Lucy down in the meanest and most spiteful way he could imagine, and make out that the two of them had only been playing make-believe. Now, you must not believe that Edmund was normally like this, for although he was not the nicest little boy, he was not normally cruel either. He teased his sister rather too much, and he thought himself very important, but he was not a bully any more than Peter or Susan were. At this moment, however, he had shards of ice in his heart from the Queen of Winter’s magic, and moreover he was feeling sulky and sick, and so he was tempted. The truth is, the only reason he did not immediately give back that spiteful untruth is that he desperately wanted some more of the enchanted Turkish Delight, and the Queen had told him he could only have it if he brought his brother and sisters to Narnia with him.

“Edmund?” Said Lucy, noticing for the first time just how meanly her brother looked at her.  
“It’s true,” said Edmund, though it hurt him to admit it. “Lucy was right. There is something uncanny about that wardrobe. And we were just in the woods.”  
“I suppose that would explain your shoes,” said Susan primly.  
Edmund’s shoes were soaked through with melted snow, and Lucy’s weren’t much better, although she had at least wiped her feet when she got out of the wardrobe.  
“Why were you in the woods?” Asked Peter slowly, looking from one of them to the other.  
"I told you, Peter," Said Lucy, "We both went through the wardrobe, to Narnia. Only I didn't know that Edmund was there, so we only met up when we were coming back."  
"Well," said Susan doubtfully, "If you both say so, I suppose we could look again."  
"It's nothing, really," said Edmund, who was feeling quite nasty by now. "Just some snow, and some trees. And it's frightfully cold."  
"In the wardrobe," said Peter.  
Peter was a whole four years older than Edmund, and although he did not consider himself to be all that grown up, he was rather less willing to believe in magical gateways in wardrobes than Lucy or even Edmund. Susan, of course, was ever so much more mature than Peter, even if she was still younger than him - but she still held onto the trailing tail ends of the wonder that lets children believe in fairies without question. If Susan had seen the fairy, Tinkerbell, she would have believed straight away and the four of them could probably have found their way into Narnia much sooner.  
"Let's go and look," said Susan, playing peacekeeper.

So the four of them trooped up to the second floor, and through the long room with the suit of armour, and the rooms full of bookshelves which the Professor had told them were actually part of the library, and into what Lucy thought of now as the wardrobe room at the end of the hall. Peter pulled open the wardrobe door, and carefully parted the coats and furs, and perhaps if it had been Lucy who did it then it would have worked. Alas, she did not, and Peter didn't yet believe in the Neverland, and so behind two layers of coats he found the back of the wardrobe instead of a gateway to a magical country.  
"There's really nothing there, Lu," said Peter. "I'm sorry."  
"But -" Edmund peered into the wardrobe, then said, "Oh."  
Lucy took one look into the wardrobe, and rushed out of the room.  
Edmund sneered, which was not at all a nice expression on him, and said, "What's the matter with her? That's the worst of little kids, they always --"  
"Look here," said Peter, turning on him angrily, "Shut up. You've been perfectly beastly to Lu this whole week, ever since she started this nonsense about the wardrobe, and now you go playing games with her about it and setting her off again. I believe you did simply out of spite."  
"But I wasn't playing games," said Edmund, taken aback. "It's not nonsense at all, Peter."  
"Of course it's nonsense," said Peter, and you can see now how alike Peter and Edmund were in certain ways. Each of them could be quite pompous when they were certain that they were right. "Lu was perfectly all right when we left home, but since we've been down here she seems to be going a bit strange or turning into the most frightful liar, and you are just making it worse by encouraging her. What good do you think you'll do by making fun one day and playing along the next?"  
Edmund went a little red in the face at this, for he still felt very unwell, and he had in fact been telling the truth. He was just as surprised as Lucy that the wardrobe was solid, and not a gateway to Narnia, although he was less upset by it. For all that he wanted more Turkish Delight, he had not really liked his small taste of the Neverland so far.   
Edmund said loudly, "Peter, I wasn't playing along, there really was something there!"  
"Oh, Edmund," said Susan. "Do stop it. And you too, Peter; it won't do any good having a row between the two of you as well. Let's go and find Lucy."

They didn't find Lucy, though; not until much later. Edmund and Peter lapsed into tense silence, glaring at one another as they searched the house, and Susan was quite worried about all of them. 

* * *

Lucy, meanwhile, had fled the house entirely and gone to sit in the garden by herself. She was glad that Edmund had stopped teasing her, but dreadfully disappointed that Susan and Peter still wouldn't believe her, and as a result she was crying just a little. The weather was still grey and wet, and so Lucy was sitting under a gazebo so that she was out of the rain. The gazebo was painted white, and had roses growing up the sides that filled the air with their scent, and it was Lucy's favourite place in the gardens. 

Lucy had been sitting there for quite a few minutes, feeling sorry for herself, when a soft voice asked, "Why are you crying, Lucy Moira Pevensie?"  
"Oh!" Said Lucy, startled, and looked up. Yeru, the strange boy from the wardrobe, was standing there in front of her. She wiped her eyes and said, "Oh, I'm not - I'm not really crying."  
"Yes you are," said Yeru. He crouched down so that he was on the same level as Lucy and reached out with one finger to touch a tear that was still trailing down her cheek. His finger was warm against her cheek.  
"Well," said Lucy, "Maybe a little."  
Yeru smiled at her and said, "Are you lost?"  
"No," said Lucy.  
"Oh," said Yeru, and sighed. He sat down where he was and looked at Lucy as if she was the most interesting thing he had ever seen.  
Lucy stared back at him, and in her curiosity she forgot that she was upset and stopped crying entirely. She said, "Why were you in the wardrobe, before?"  
"I was keeping an eye on Tink," he said. "Fairies get distracted terribly easily."  
"Is she here?" Asked Lucy.  
A soft glissando of tiny bells answered Lucy, and Yeru pulled his shirt away form his neck a little so that Lucy could see the glow of a sleepy Tinkerbell nestled against Yeru's neck, under his shirt. Lucy grinned and moved closer to look.  
"She's so lovely," she said.  
"Most people don't like them," said Yeru, "They can be nasty if you don't leave milk out for them. But Tink's okay."  
Lucy put her hands behind her back to make sure she didn't reach out and touch the fairy, although she wanted very badly to do exactly that. She thought it might be a little rude to do without asking.  
Yeru smiled at her and said, "You can hold her if you like, if you don't mind getting fairy dust on you."  
"May I?" Asked Lucy, her eyes shining. "I shall be ever so careful."  
Yeru reached into his shirt and brought out the fairy in his cupped palm. A tinkle of grumpy complaint came form his hand, but he ignored it and placed the fairy into Lucy's hands, which she had held out to him. Lucy cupped her hands gently around the fairy, who glowed like a candle vibrated slightly, like a very tiny cat purring.  
"She's so perfect," Whispered Lucy, smiling. "I wish Susan and Peter could see her. Then they would believe me."

She sat there with Yeru and Tinkerbell for hours, chatting gaily about whatever came into her mind, and it was not until her stomach growled at her that Lucy realised it was almost tea time.  
"I should go in," she said regretfully. "I have so enjoyed our talks though."  
"As have I," said Yeru, and he bowed to her when he stood up, as if Lucy were a fine lady, and then offered her his hand to help her up.  
Tinkerbell roused from where she was dozing in Lucy's hair, and squawked something entirely unmusical in her bells and glitter voice. Lucy yelped as Tink pulled her hair, though she did not pull it very hard as she did quite like Lucy.   
Yeru laughed, then he said, "Tink is upset because she has to wake up now."  
Tinkerbell buzzed something sulky and slightly discordant, and nestled deeper into Lucy's hair.  
Lucy said, "I suppose she could stay there if she really wanted to."  
"Perhaps," said Yeru. "Would you like that, Tink?"  
A trill of bells answered him, and Lucy was quite certain that it meant "Yes, I would like that very much," although she did not actually understand the fairy language.  
Yeru nodded seriously. "All right," he said, "I shall come and collect you later. You must be good, though, and be nice to my dear Lucy."  
There was another trill of bells, with a distinctly sarcastic tone to it. Lucy wasn't sure at all what it meant, but Yeru laughed, so she smiled.  
"Well, off you go, then," he said. "Tink promises to be good."  
"Okay," asid Lucy. "Bye!"  
"Before you go," said Yeru, "I wanted to give you something."  
He pulled out of his pocket an acorn which was hung on a little silver chain, and held it out to her.  
"Oh," said Lucy, pausing just as she was about to go trotting off towards the house. "Well, that's very kind of you."  
She accepted the acorn, which, you should know, is almost as risky a thing to do as accepting enchanted food and drink from a fairy creature. Fairies, for all they are chaotic, heartless creatures, are very much sticklers for rules and courtesies. Accepting a gift without giving one in return leaves you in their debt, which is a rather risky situation to be in.  
Yeru grinned at Lucy, conspiratorial and pleased. He said, "If you ever were lost, it might help you find your way."   
"How thoughtful," said Lucy, smiling. "Thank you. But I didn't bring you anything."  
You see, Lucy was a very polite girl and she knew that unless it is someone's birthday or some similar event, it is only good manners to give a gift in exchange when one receives one.  
Yeru said, "That's all right. But if you wanted.. I thought that maybe you could help me with something, too."  
"Of course!" said Lucy eagerly.  
"You see," said Yeru, "I have lost something. I think you might remember, Tink and I were looking for it when we met you before."  
"I remember," said Lucy. "It was in the sideboard drawer?"  
"The big wooden box?" Said Yeru.  
Lucy nodded. "Yes, near the wardrobe that you were in."  
Yeru said, "That must be it, yes. I wondered if you might get it out and bring it to me? Since I can't go in to your house."  
"I can do that," said Lucy. "What does it look like?"  
"Well, it's mostly flat, I think, and dark coloured," said Yeru. "It rather looks just like any other shadow, I'm afraid, though if you rolled it out it should more than likely have the shape of a lion."  
"Oh, it's your shadow?" Asked Lucy, and here she looked down to see if Yeru had his shadow in the regular place at his feet. It was a great surprise to her that he did not.  
Yeru nodded sadly. "Yes," he said. "I lost it some time ago, and I have been rather distracted trying to find it again."  
Lucy smiled at him and bounced a little on her toes. She said, "I'll get it out after dinner. Should I bring it to you here tomorrow? Where do you live?"  
"I live far away" said Yeru, "In the Neverland. But I'll come and find you," and this should have worried Lucy at least a little, but it didn't. 

It was rather surprising to Susan and Peter when they finally found Lucy, which is to say when Lucy came indoors and found them, that she seemed quite happy. Edmund was the most surprised of the three of them, and he was also a little put out that Lucy wasn't miserable, since he still felt ill and unhappy from eating all that Turkish Delight, and moreover had no appetite for his tea.  
Susan asked, "Lucy, where were you? We looked all over."  
And Lucy said, "I was outside near the roses. But I think it must be tea time, so I came in."  
She didn't tell them about Yeru and Tinkerbell, mainly because she was very hungry and it completely slipped her mind that they didn't know already.

* * *

After tea, Lucy dashed off to look for Yeru's shadow in the sideboard. She had to open nearly all the drawers, of which there were eight, before she found it. It was folded up and tucked in at the back, behind a stack of linen napkins and silver napkin holders, and a lace doily that had been tidily rolled up and placed on top of the napkins. Edmund went straight to bed, still feeling queasy, and Susan and Peter were far too concerned about him to notice Lucy running off. They thought, and this was their chief mistake, that since she seemed happy she must have forgotten about her made-up magical country, or lost interest in it finally. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Lucy carefully took the folded up shadow, which was cool and slinky on her fingers like her mother's silk nightgown, and put it in her pocket. Then she closed all the drawers in the sideboard back the way they had been when she started and, after a single longing look at the wardrobe, went back to the room she shared with Susan to get ready for bed. She changed into her pyjamas, transferring the folded up shadow into her pyjama pocket just in case, and brushed her teeth and washed her face the way Susan insisted she should every night. In all this time, Tinkerbell barely stirred from her nest in Lucy's hair, muttering the occasional sleepy mumble of tinkling bells in Lucy's ear. It was only when Lucy went to brush her hair that Tinkerbell woke up, and in a flash she had shot up to the ceiling and was chattering in glissandos of sound to Lucy.  
"Wait, wait, slow down," said Lucy to the fairy, "I don't understand."  
Tinkerbell gave an irritated huff, which sounded like the crash of a very tiny set of cymbals, and darted to the window and rapped sharply against the window-pane. Her touch spread a delicate tracery of frost across the glass, although that seemed rather incidental to her meaning.  
Lucy walked over to her and unlatched the window. She said, "Did you want to go outside then?"  
Tinkerbell zipped out through the open window, then back again to press a fairy kiss (which felt rather like a small electric shock) against Lucy's cheek before zipping out once more and flying around in circles like a firefly. Lucy watched her, fascinated, and she barely noticed when the cool breeze began to card through her hair like fingers. It was ever so much gentler than a brush, tugging out the tangles in her hair and leaving it streaming out behind her in a silky mane.

When Susan came into the room, all she saw was Lucy leaning dangerously far out of the open window as the wind blew the chill and the spattering rain inside. She could be forgiven for her sudden shout of, "Lucy!" After which she pulled her sister back from the window, which she shut and latched.  
Lucy turned around, laughing, and said, "That was excellent, Su. It felt like flying."  
"Oh Lucy, you might have fallen out the window," said Susan.  
"No, I wouldn't have," said Lucy complacently, and that was that. She did worry a little about Tinkerbell though, locked outside in the wet, but she thought that fairies are probably quite good at finding dry places to hide from the rain, on account of being so small.

"I do hope she'll be all right," said Lucy to herself as she climbed into bed and let Susan tuck her in and turn out the night light. Then she fell asleep, and she didn't think of anything at all until the music woke her up again, although she dreamed about soaring over the ocean and diving down to skim just above the waves with a pod of dolphins. 

The music was very quiet, just a soft, reedy piping that tugged at something behind Lucy's belly-button and made her think, just for a second, of her mother. She looked around to see where it might be coming from, but the sliver of moonlight that shone in between the curtains didn't show her anything. Lucy got up and slipped her feet into her slippers, then gently pulled the curtains further open to let more light into the room. She noticed straight away that Susan was sitting up in bed, although her face was curiously blank, as if she was still asleep.  
"Susan," whispered Lucy, "Are you awake?"  
There was no reply at all, but Susan swung her feet out of bed and stood up.  
"Su," whispered Lucy urgently, but her sister didn't respond.

With no sign of being awake at all, Susan got out of bed and padded over to the door in her stockinged feet. Then she stopped, for how many sleepwalkers do you know who can open a door?  
"Susan!" Lucy whispered again, and this time she went over and shook her sister by the shoulder.  
Susan murmured something, then blinked and sort of shuddered slightly before looking over at her sister. She blinked again.  
"What is it, Lu?" She asked.  
"Are you awake now?" Lucy said.  
"What? Of course," said Susan. She tilted her head and got a far-away look in her eyes, and added, "Can you hear that?"  
"Yes, it woke me up," said Lucy.  
Susan hummed thoughtfully. Then she opened the bedroom door.

Across the hall, the door to Peter and Edmund's room was also open, and no one was in the room.  
"Oh dear," said Susan.  
"I bet they heard the music too," said Lucy.  
She was correct, although not quite in the way that she meant. Edmund and Peter had heard the music, but like Susan, they had not woken up before they rose to follow it. The difference was that Peter hadn't quite closed their bedroom door when he came to bed, leaving it just ajar so that the light from the hallway could seep into the bedroom. This meant that when he and Edmund rose, sleepwalking, to follow the curious music, there was no closed door to hinder them.  
"We should find them," said Lucy, and she dashed off down the hallway without a second thought.  
Susan paused to pull on her slippers, then ran after Lucy.

It would not be unreasonable to think that two children running full tilt through the house might make quite a bit of noise, and possibly wake everyone else int he house, but that was not the case. The house was so big, and old, and creaky that the sound of Lucy and then Susan running along the second storey hallway didn't disturb Professor Kirke at all, nor his housekeeper, Mrs Macready.

Lucy followed the sound of the flute, and Susan followed her sister, and in almost no time at all they found themselves in the wardrobe room. In fact, they caught up with Peter and Edmund just as the two boys got there, so all four arrived at the same time, though Lucy and Susan were considerably more out of breath, and Peter and Edmund seemed still to be asleep. Bright, cold moonlight shone in through the window, and the doors of the wardrobe were hanging open, with the flute music clearly emanating from inside the wardrobe.  
"How very strange," said Susan. "I wonder why anyone would set a gramophone to playing inside a wardrobe? Or a wireless, perhaps."  
Lucy grabbed Edmund's arm and shook him lightly. "Edmund," she said, and unlike Susan he woke up immediately, with a little snort that was almost a snore.  
"What? Oh - what's going on? I say, Lu, why are you in my room?" Said Edmund, yawning.  
"I'm not," said Lucy.  
Edmund looked around, and his eyes went wide. "No, you're not, are you?" He said.  
Lucy went to shake Peter awake as well, but as she made to grab his arm, he stepped into the wardrobe and started forcing his way through the coats and furs towards the back.  
"Peter," hissed Susan, "Peter, come back!"  
She stepped into the wardrobe after him. Lucy and Edmund looked at one another, then Lucy shrugged, and they both grinned and stepped into the wardrobe after their brother and sister.


	7. To the Waters and the Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four Pevensies find that Tootles the faun has been arrested, and follow a fairy into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there hasn't been much divergence form canon so far (there has been a bit) but trust me, it's coming. :) After all, it's only a couple've chapters until the Pevensies meet Aslan.

Lucy and Edmund pushed through the coats, already expecting to feel scratchy branches and pine needles against their skin at any second. Susan was far too busy trying to catch up to Peter to disbelieve in magic, and in any case, it is far easier to believe in magical things at the dead of night than it is on a sunny afternoon. And Peter.. Peter was still fast asleep, and dreaming of the Neverland.  
"What a nasty smell of camphor," said Edmund quietly.  
"I expect the pockets of these coats are full of it," said Susan, "to keep away moths."   
The four of them walked a few more steps forwards before Edmund said, "Oh, I say, Peter and I forgot to put our shoes on."  
"Do you suppose there might be boots or something in here?" Asked Lucy.  
"Why ever would you want boots, Ed?" Asked Susan. "It is cold in here, but it can't be that bad."  
Edmund crouched down to feel around the base of the wardrobe, and there was a pair of gum boots there at one side, and a pair of winter boots with sheepskin lining.  
"These should do," said Edmund, sliding his feet into the winter boots. He almost left the gum boots there, but Lucy had stopped to watch him, and he thought she might say something so he passed the gum boots to her. "Here you are, Lu," he said.  
Lucy grabbed the boots, but she didn't stop to put them on, and after all, she was wearing her slippers. Instead she held her other hand out to Edmund and said, "Come on, let's catch up to the others."

They hurried forward, just in time to hear Peter's very sleepy voice say, "What is it, Su? Ow, there's something sticking into my back."  
"Peter," said Lucy, rushing forwards, "Are you all right?"  
Peter said, "I'm not sure, Lu. What's going on? Where are we?"  
"We're in the wardrobe," said Lucy.  
"Why is it so cold, though?" Asked Susan.  
"And wet, too," said Peter. "What's the matter with this place?"  
"Oh - oh!" Said Susan suddenly.  
"What is it, Su?" Asked Edmund.  
"That - That's a tree," said Susan shakily. "Not a coat at all. And look, it's getting lighter over there, and it's trees all around. And it's wet and cold because there's.. there's snow."  
"By Jove, you're right," said Peter. "I do believe we've gone into Lucy's wood after all."  
There was no mistaking it. In front of them was a snowy wood, glittering with icicles in the bright daylight of a winter day, and behind them were coats and furs hanging on pegs. At some point the music had stopped, too.  
Peter turned at once to Lucy and said, "I apologise for not believing you, Lu. I'm sorry. Will you shake hands?"  
"Of course," said Lucy, and did.   
"And now," said Susan, "What do we do next?"   
"Do?" said Peter, "why, go and explore the wood, of course."   
"You might want some shoes, Peter," said Lucy, holding out the gum boots to him.  
"Oh, yes," said Peter, and took them gratefully. "Thanks, Lu."  
Edmund scowled. He felt that Peter should somehow have realised that Edmund was the one who had found the boots, and thanked him as well.  
"Ugh!" said Susan, stamping her feet, "it's pretty cold. What about putting on some of these coats?"   
"They're not ours," said Peter doubtfully.   
"I am sure nobody would mind," said Susan. "It isn't as if we wanted to take them out of the house; we shan't take them even out of the wardrobe."   
"Golly, Su, I would never have thought of it like that," said Peter. "Of course no one could say you had taken a coat if you leave it in the wardrobe where you found it, and I suppose this whole country is inside the wardrobe."

They immediately carried out Susan's very sensible plan. The coats were rather too big for them so that they came down to their heels and looked more like royal robes than coats when they had put them on. But they all felt a good deal warmer and each thought the others looked better in their new get-up and more suitable to the landscape.   
"This is going to be terribly exciting," said Peter as he began leading the way into the forest. There were heavy darkish clouds overhead and it looked as if there might be more snow before night.   
"I say," began Edmund presently, "oughtn't we to be bearing a bit more to the left, that is, if we are aiming for the lamp-post."   
"Oh that's right," said Susan, "You've been here before, haven't you, Ed?"  
"He has," said Lucy, "But I didn't know he'd gone as far as the lamp post. How long were you looking for me, Edmund?"  
Lucy rather felt badly for leaving Edmund to worry about her, since she didn't know that he had spent a large part of his time in Narnia worrying far more about himself, and the rest of it eating enchanted Turkish Delight and answering the Queen of Winter's questions.  
"A while," said Edmund sullenly. He no longer felt quite so ill as he had, but the bright, fresh air of the Neverland was making him think longingly of the Turkish Delight the Queen had given him, and the presence of so much magic around him was making the shards of ice in his veins and his heart prod at him sharply, like needles.  
"Where are we going anyway?" said Susan, chiefly for the sake of changing the subject.   
"I think Lu ought to be the leader," said Peter, "goodness knows she deserves it. Where will you take us, Lu?"   
"What about going to see Tootles?" said Lucy. "He's the nice faun I told you about."   
Everyone agreed to this and off they went, walking briskly and stamping their feet. Lucy and Susan walked carefully to keep from getting snow in their slippers, but as it was very cold, dry snow it wasn't too difficult.

Lucy proved to be a good leader. She had come this way twice already, and so it wasn't too difficult for her to recognise an odd-looking tree in one place, and a particular stump in another, and so to bring them on to where the ground became uneven and into the little valley and at last to the very door of Tootle's hollow tree. But there a terrible surprise awaited them. 

There were axe marks in the side of the hollow tree, opening it up so that the cozy cave underneath it was entirely exposed. Inside, it was damp and cold, and had the smell and feel of a place that had not been lived in for several days. Snow had drifted in from the doorway and was heaped on the floor, mixed with something black, which turned out to be the charred sticks and ashes from the fire. Someone had apparently flung it about the room and then stamped it out. The crockery lay smashed on the floor, and someone had slashed the upholstery of the armchairs with a knife. 

"This is a pretty good wash-out," said Edmund, "not much good coming here."   
"What's this?" said Peter, stooping down. He had just noticed a piece of paper which had been nailed through the carpet to the floor.   
"Is there anything written on it?" asked Susan.   
"Yes, I think there is," answered Peter, "but I can't read it in this light. Let's get out into the open air."   
They all went out in the daylight and crowded round Peter as he read out the following words: "The former occupant of these premises, the Faun Tootles, is under arrest and awaiting his trial on a charge of High Treason against her Imperial Majesty Jadis, Queen of Narnia, Chatelaine of Cair Paravel, Empress of the Lone Islands, etc., also of comforting her said Majesty's enemies, harbouring spies and fraternising with Humans.   
Signed FANG VILKAS ULF,Captain of the Secret Police,   
LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!" 

The children stared at each other.   
"That doesn't sound good. I'm not sure this is such a good place to visit," said Susan. "I think Mother should be very worried if she knew that we were here."  
"Who is this Queen, Lu?" said Peter. "Do you know anything about her?"   
"She isn't a real queen at all," answered Lucy, "She's a mean, nasty witch. All of the wood people, the animals and the trees and everyone, call her the White Witch. She has put an enchantment over the whole country so that it is always winter here."   
"Perhaps we should go home," said Susan. "I mean, it doesn't seem especially safe, and I wonder if there's really any point in going on. It's growing colder every minute, and we didn't bring anything to eat."  
"Oh, but we can't, we can't," said Lucy. "Don't you see? We can't just go home, not after this. It is all on my account that the poor faun has got into this trouble. He hid me from the Witch and showed me the way back. That's what it means by comforting the Queen's enemies and fraternising with Humans. We simply must try to rescue him."   
"A lot we could do!" said Edmund, "When we haven't even got anything to eat!"   
Peter ignored Edmund completely, which Edmund didn't like. Instead, Peter turned to Susan and said, "What do you think, Su?"  
"I've a horrid feeling that Lu is right," said Susan. "I don't want to. I wish we'd never come, and I don't want to go any further, but.. I think we must try to do something for - whatever his name is. The faun."  
"I think so too," said Peter. "I am worried about having no food with us, but there doesn't seem to be any certainty of getting here again if we go back and get something from the larder. I think we have to go on."  
Lucy nodded.  
Susan looked around a little helplessly and said, "If only we knew where he was imprisoned, we might know where to go."

They were still wondering what do when a trilling tinkle as if of tiny bells attracted Lucy's attention. She looked up into the trees and grinned when she saw a glowing light like a firefly.  
"Tink!" Said Lucy, and the tinkling sound came again, a little louder.  
"What?" Said Peter, looking first at his sister, then up into the canopy.  
The point of light that was the fairy darted down and flew in a quick, tight circle around Lucy before darting up into the trees again and stopping a little way off.  
"Lucy, what is that?" Asked Susan, staring at the fairy.  
"She's a fairy," said Lucy. "I've met her before; she's quite lovely. I think she might be able to help us." Then she turned to the point of light and said, "Please, can you tell us where Tootles the faun has been taken to?"  
As she said this, she took a step towards the fairy. At once, the fairy shivered into motion again, darting off into the trees, then back, and then away again and back, before pausing just a little further off in the same direction.  
"Does it - does she want us to follow her?" Asked Peter.  
"I think so," said Lucy. "Come on."  
"What do you think, Su?" Asked Peter, eyeing the fairy.  
Susan shrugged a little and said, "We might as well try it, mightn't we?"

The fairy appeared to understand their hesitating progress, and kept going in this manner. She kept going from tree to tree, always a little way ahead of them, but always so near that they could easily see and follow her. Sometimes she would alight for a second or two on a branch, tipping a little shower of snow off onto the ground. Presently the clouds parted overhead and the winter sun came out and the snow all around them grew dazzlingly bright. 

They had been travelling in this way for about half an hour, with the two girls in front, when Edmund said to Peter, "Have you realised what we're doing?"  
"What?" said Peter, looking over at his brother.  
"We're following a guide we know nothing about. We don't even know if that is the same fairy that Lucy thinks she is - can you tell the difference? Have you even seen her other than a little fleck of light? And even if it is Lucy's fairy, how do we know which side she is on? Do we know that it isn't leading us into a trap?"   
The truth is, of course, that Edmund said this mostly just to be mean because the shards of ice in his heart only let him see the worst of everyone and everything, but it was a valid thing to say all the same. One should not simply trust fairies to lead one safely; even the best of them are still mischievous, and think it a great joke to lead humans into swamps and mires, or near the dens of Kelpies and other dangerous spirits. 

"That's a nasty idea," said Peter. "Still, I don't think any friend of Lucy's would be on the wrong side."  
"I don't like ot think so either," said Edmund, which was an outright lie, "But we don't even know which is the right side. How do we know that the fauns are in the right and the Queen - the witch - is in the wrong? We don't really know anything about either."   
"The faun saved Lucy."   
"He said he did. But how do we know? And there's another thing too. Has anyone the least idea of the way home from here?"   
"Great Scott!" said Peter, "I hadn't thought of that."   
"And no chance of dinner either," said Edmund. 


	8. Between the Water and the Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children meet Curly the beaver, and his wife, and have dinner with the beavers.

While the two boys hung back whispering, Lucy and Susan kept moving forward, following the flickering light of the fairy through the trees.  
Suddenly Lucy said, “Oh!” And at the same time, Susan exclaimed, “Oh dear!”  
Peter hurried to catch up with the two girls, and Edmund was only a step behind him, in spite of his mistrust of the fairy.  
“What is it?” Asked Peter.  
“The fairy flew away,” said Susan.  
Lucy looked at them miserably and said, “I thought she was my friend.”  
“Buck up, Lu,” said Peter. “Maybe it wasn’t your fairy at all, maybe this was some other fairy. It’s not as if it stayed still long enough for us to see it.”  
“Oh, I suppose you’re right,” said Lucy, somewhat comforted.  
“What are we to do now, though?” Said Edmund, giving Peter a look as if to say, ‘What did I tell you?’  
"Ssh! Look!" Said Susan.   
"What?" Said Peter.   
"There's something moving among the trees - over there to the left."   
They all stared as hard as they could, and no one felt very comfortable. 

“There, I saw it again,” saw Susan presently.  
“I saw it that time too,” said Peter. “It’s still there, whatever it is. It's just gone behind that big tree."   
"What is it?" asked Lucy, trying very hard not to sound nervous.   
"Whatever it is," said Peter, "it doesn’t seem to want to be seen. Maybe we should leave it alone."  
“Oh,” said Lucy, disappointed. “Yes, of course.”  
"Let's go home," said Susan, finally. And then, though nobody said it out loud, everyone suddenly realised the same fact that Edmund had whispered to Peter before. They were lost.  
“We shall simply have to go on,” said Peter. “And ask the next person we meet for directions.”  
“Look,” said Edmund, who had not really been paying attention to what Peter and Susan were saying, “There it is again.”  
The others turned to look, and sure enough, the flash of movement happened again. They all saw it this time, a whiskered, furry little face which looked out at them from behind a tree.  
“It’s some sort of animal,” said Susan.  
The animal didn’t immediately draw back this time; instead it held its paw up to its mouth in very much the way a human will hold a finger to their lips if they are signalling you to be quiet. Then it disappeared again behind the tree. The four children stood quietly, and it seemed as if the whole world was holding its breath for just that moment.

A moment later, a small, furry creature came out from behind the tree, glanced around as if it were afraid that someone was watching, and said, “Hush.”  
Then it beckoned them to join it in the thicker bit of wood where it was standing, and once more disappeared.  
“I know what it is,” said Susan, “It’s a beaver! I saw its tail that time.”  
“It wants us to go to it,” said Peter, “And it’s warning us not to make any noise.”  
He said this in a hushed voice, in case there was a good reason why they shouldn’t make any noise.  
“I know,” said Susan. “Do you think we should?”  
“I think it’s probably a nice beaver,” said Lucy.  
“You can’t know that, Lu,” said Edmund. “It might be a terribly mean beaver, trying to lure us into a trap.”  
Of course, Edmund said this mainly because he was thinking about traps, and if it counted as a trap to convince his brother and sisters to come with him to the Queen’s house between the two little hills, if he could even find it.  
“What else can we do?” Asked Susan sensibly. “It’s no good just standing here. I think we shall have to risk it.”  
“I’ve never heard of a beaver attacking people,” said Peter. “Let’s give it a try.”  
At this moment, the beaver popped its head out from behind the tree and beckoned earnestly to them. The children looked at one another, then walked cautiously forward in a tight bunch up to the tree and behind it.

There, sure enough, they found the beaver.  
He drew back further, beckoning them, and said in a hoarse whisper, “Come on, further in. Right in here. We’re not safe in the open.”  
“You can talk!” Exclaimed Lucy.  
“Ssssh, not so loud,” said the beaver, giving her an odd look.  
Only when they had followed the beaver into the undergrowth, to a spot where four trees grew so close together that their boughs met and the brown earth and pine needles could be seen underfoot because no snow had been able to fall there, did it begin to talk to them.  
“Are you the humans?” It asked.  
“We’re human,” said Peter, “If that’s what you mean?”  
“Not so loud,” hissed the beaver, “We’re not safe, even here.”  
“What are you afraid of?” Whispered Susan. “There’s no one else here, is there?”  
“The trees,” said the beaver, “They’re always listening. Most of them are on our side, but there are trees that side with Winter. They would betray us in an instant.”  
“How do we know that you’re on the right side, if we’re talking about sides?” Said Edmund.  
“We’re strangers, you see, Mr. Beaver,” said Susan. “We don’t mean to be rude.”  
She gave Edmund a hard look.  
“Quite all right,” said the beaver, “Wouldn’t expect anything else, what is the world coming to? Wolves and pirates everywhere you turn. No, no, it’s quite all right. No way that you could know.”  
“Whatever do you mean?” Asked Lucy, though she asked very quietly, in case there were any bad trees listening.  
“Tootles and I have been friends since we were children,” said the beaver. “He might have mentioned me. I’m called Curly.”  
“He did mention someone called Curly,” said Lucy.  
“Well, that is me,” said the beaver. “And this is my token.”  
Here he took out a scrap of white fabric, rather crumpled, and held it up. The children stared at it curiously for a moment before Lucy said, “Oh! It’s my handkerchief. The one I gave to Tootles when I was here before, and he was upset.”  
“Well, I don’t imagine anyone else would know that,” said Susan, “Not unless you told them.”  
“Exactly so,” said the beaver, Curly. “Tootles and I – we used to be, well. Time for that later, as Moira would say. We’ve known one another a long time now, and so when he caught wind of the arrest Tootles asked me to keep an eye out for you. Watch out for them, he said, if anything happens to me. And so I have and I am; I shall see you safely on to where you need to go.”  
At this point, Curly gave one or two very mysterious nods, as if the children would know exactly what he was referring to. They didn’t, but all four nodded along with him anyway, since there is nothing that children of that age like more than a mystery in which they can be involved.  
After a moment Curly added, very, very quietly so that the children could hardly hear it at all, “They say Aslan is on the move again. He may have returned already.”

A very curious thing happened when he said those words. None of the children knew who Aslan was, but as soon as Curly had spoken his name, each of them felt a welling of some strange emotion or sensation within them. It felt like those moments when someone says something to you in a dream, and you don’t quite recall the words but you know that they have some enormous meaning – something terrifying that will turn the whole dream into a nightmare, or else something so lovely that there are no words for it. It was just like that, and all of the Neverland trembled just a little at the name of Aslan, as if the whole country were dreaming and on the verge of waking up. Edmund felt a sharp, hot sensation of horror prickling on his skin. Peter felt brave and adventurous, as if he were standing at the top of a mountain and looking down. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or some delightful strain of music had just floated by her. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realise that it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer, and also the feeling that someone has just called your name, only you didn’t quite hear them.

“What about Tootles,” said Lucy, “Where is he?”  
“Not here,” said Curly. “I must bring you somewhere that we can talk properly, and also dinner.”  
This seemed like a very fine idea to the children, and none of them except for Edmund felt any difficulty in trust Curly the beaver now. Even Edmund was mollified by the idea of dinner, for although he didn’t feel as cold as the others, he was quite hungry by now. They hurried behind their new friend as he led them at a surprisingly quick pace through the woods, going always through the thickest parts of the forest.

It had begun to get dark by the time they came to the edge of the trees, and Lucy at least had begun to wonder if she was dreaming. She felt cold and hungry, but she felt it at a distance as it were. She also felt quite sleepy, having woken in the middle of the night rather unexpectedly, and after a busy day. She thought that Edmund might feel the same, because he was very pale and had a pinched look around his mouth that usually meant he was not at all happy about events. Susan and Peter did not appear to notice, but youngest siblings see more than you think, and Lucy knew very well that Edmund was not as excited about their grand adventure as she was.

As the woods began to get thinner, the ground dropped away steeply downhill. A few minutes later they came out into the open entirely, and in the last sunlight of the late afternoon they looked around to find themselves on the edge of a steep, narrow valley at the bottom of which ran – or would have run if it hadn’t been frozen solid – a fairly large river. Just below them a dam had been built across the river, and when they saw it all four of the children remembered that beavers are well known for making dams, and felt quite sure that Curly had made this one. He had the sort of look on his face, looking at the dam, that people often have when you are visiting a garden they have planted or reading a story they have written. So it was only common politeness when Susan said, “What a lovely dam.”  
Curly looked rather bashful, as if he would have blushed if he could, and said, “Oh, it’s not really finished. I’m sure it could be much better. Much better indeed.”

Above the dam there was what ought to have been a deep pool but was now a level floor of dark green ice. Below the dam was a frozen waterfall, all icicles and frosted shapes like flowers where water might have been trickling if it had been warmer, and below that a frozen stretch of river that was all uneven, frozen into foaming waves and swirls like moving water. Out in the middle, partly on top of the dam and partly built into the side of it was a funny little house almost the shape of a bee hive or a basket, woven from sticks and reeds and branches, with smoke coming out of a hole in the top like a little chimney. Lucy thought the smoke smelled of campfires and savoury herbs, and Peter, who had been camping a few more times than Lucy had, thought that it smelled a little like fish as well, like the smoked trout that he and his father sometimes brought home from the markets back home in London.

Edmund didn’t really notice the smoke much at all, although his stomach growled out loud so he clearly did notice at least a little. Instead, Edmund noticed that a little way down the valley another small river came down another narrow valley to join up with this one. And looking up that valley, Edmund could see two small hills, which he was almost certain were the hills that the Queen had pointed out to him before, when he met her near the lamp post in the woods. Between them, he thought, must be her palace, only a mile or so away. And then he thought about Turkish Delight, and about being a Prince, and horrible ideas came into his head. So when Curly led them out across the dam, which was wide enough to walk on single file although ti was quite slippery and covered in ice, he was not listening to Curly and his brother and sisters chatting companionably, and was instead staring down the valley with an expression on his face that would have been rather more suited to the face of some hungry, half-starved dog or wolf-hound.

“Here we are,” said Curly, opening the door to the funny little house, “Come in, come in. Hello, Moira, darling. I found them, safe and sound.”  
Inside the little house was a kind-looking she-beaver sitting in a rocking chair in the corner, with a basket of yarn at her feet and a pile of knitting in her lap.“Oh, lovely, lovely. To think, you’ve come at last,” she said, putting the knitting down and standing up, though she was barely two-thirds of Lucy’s height, even standing.  
“Hello,” said Lucy uncertainly.  
“Come in, dears, and shut the door. Keep the cold out, am I right?” The she-beaver said, giving Lucy a saucy little wink which made her smile.  
“Thank you very much, Mrs Beaver,” said Susan as she came inside.  
“Call me Moira, dear, I’m not so very old as all that,” said the she-beaver to Susan as Peter and Edmund and Curly came inside.

Moira sent Curly and the two boys out to catch some fish, which involved cutting a hole in the ice above the dam, and took barely any time at all. Peter was a little envious of Curly’s skill, but Curly tutted at him and promised to teach him how to do it if he pleased. Moira cooked up the fresh-caught fish, and served them a delicious tea of boiled potatoes and fresh fish, with butter and herbs, but no salt.  
“Is there no salt?” Asked Edmund. The other three were too polite to ask.  
“No, salt is hard to find in the Neverland,” said Curly. “You have to be close to the sea to get it at all, and travelling that far in the snow is difficult. We don’t mind so much ourselves, but I know the centaurs miss it.”  
“Used to be we could trade for it with the mermaids,” said Moira, “but that was only the first few years of Winter, before the river froze over. They won’t come up, now. Too easy for the wolves to catch them. And you know what wolves and pirates will do with a mermaid if they get one.”  
The children had no idea what wolves or pirates might do with a mermaid, but terrible images of them cooking and eating one like the fish they were eating made Lucy feel quite ill.  
“Oh dear,” she said. “That’s terrible.” And she looked at the fish on her plate with a certain amount of suspicion, and didn’t eat any more of it.  
Susan, who was a little older, and had some other rather vague notions about what might happen to captured mermaids looked very ill indeed.

When they had all eaten their fill, and then eaten some more when Moira brought a sticky jam pudding out of the oven, they each pushed their chair back a little form the table and sighed. Moira made tea, and the six of them sat sipping at cups of hot tea with milk and sugar, and staring into the fire that was blazing merrily in the hearth.  
“Now,” said Curly, leaning back, “Now we can get to business. It's snowing again," he added, cocking his eye at the window. "That’s good news. It means that if anyone were trying to follow you, they wouldn’t find any tracks. Not even a scent trail, I’d say, with that much snow. And of course we shan’t have any visitors in this weather, so we shall have plenty of time to talk." 


	9. Who is Aslan?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After-dinner conversation with the beavers, and the children learn of Aslan the great Lion who is Lord of Summer. Also, Edmund sneaks off.

“First,” said Lucy, “Would you please tell us what’s happened to Tootles?”  
“It’s bad business,” said Curly, and Moira nodded along with him. “Terribly bad business. He was taken by the White Witch’s wolves. I spoke to a bird that saw it done, so there’s no doubt about it.”  
“But what does that mean? Where’s he been taken to?” Asked Susan.  
“Are they going to eat him?” Asked Lucy, who was still feeling rather unhappy about the idea of captured mermaids being eaten by wolves.  
“No, nothing like that, child,” said Moira.  
“Hard to say for certain, of course,” said Curly. “There’s not many taken to her house that come out again.”  
“To whose house?” Asked Peter. “This is all rather confusing. Maybe you could start at the beginning?”  
“They will have taken him to the White Witch’s house, dear,” said Moira. “Anyone who’s taken by the wolves is taken there.”  
“Frozen to ice by now, most like,” said Curly.  
“Whatever do you mean?” Asked Lucy.  
“Well, there’s a reason not many come back out of that place,” said Curly. “It’s full of statues, they say. All through the courtyard and up the stairs, and in the halls. Why, she probably keeps some in the dining room. I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”  
“Statues?” Said Susan, confused again.  
“Of the people she’s turned to stone,” said Curly, his whiskers curling in horror at the thought.  
“Or perhaps to ice,” said Moira. “We can’t be certain.”  
“Oh no,” said Lucy, “Curly, we can’t leave him there! It’s too dreadful, and all on my account. We must do something to save him!”  
“There’s nought to be done now,” said Moira. “It’s the sad truth. I’m sure you would save him if you could, but there’s no chance of getting into her house against her will, and even less of getting out again.”  
“Couldn’t we make some sort of plan?” Asked Peter. “A stratagem, I mean. We could dress up as something, or pretend to be – I don’t know, pedlars or something. Or watch until the Witch had gone out? There must be some way to help. This faun saved my sister, we can’t just leave him to be turned to stone. Or ice.”  
“It’s no good your trying to outsmart the Witch,” said Curly, “We’ve tried, don’t think we haven’t. Why, my own cousin was arrested last year, all for saying that he liked spring flowers, and three more of the Beaver clan were lost to Winter just trying to get him a trial. But now that Aslan is on the move –“  
"Oh, yes! Tell us about Aslan!" Said Lucy and Peter at once, for they both very much liked the strange feeling that had once again come over them, like the first signs of spring, or the anticipation of good news.   
"Who is Aslan?" asked Susan.

Both Curly and Moira stared at them for a minute, clearly quite shocked.  
Eventually, Moira said, “You don’t know?”  
“Well, no, of course not,” said Susan. “We’re strangers here.”  
“That – well, of course that makes sense darling,” said Curly gruffly. “How could they know?”  
“I suppose so,” said Moira, “It’s just so hard to imagine. Think of not knowing Summer.” And she looked at them with pity in her kind little whiskered face, as if they had admitted to the saddest thing she could think of, like not knowing what sunshine felt like, or what ice cream was.  
“Well, it’s not their fault really,” said Curly. Then he looked back up at the children and said, “Aslan is the Lord of Summer, you see. He’s the rightful ruler of the whole wood, though you don’t often see him around, you understand. He’s not held court, oh, since my father’s time I think, but word has reached us that he has come back. He is in Narnia at this very moment, I’m sure, and he will settle things with the White Witch. It is he, not you, who will save poor Tootles.”   
“She won’t just turn him into stone too?” Asked Edmund.  
“Oh no, child,” said Curly, laughing, “She hasn’t the power. Why, if she can even stand to look him in the eye I shall be surprised. After all, he carries spring with him in the shake of his mane; he is Winter’s death, isn’t he?”  
“How do you know that he’s come back?” Asked Peter thoughtfully. “Have you seen him? Has he sent word somehow?”  
“Haven’t you felt the Neverland waking up?” Said Moira. “That is Aslan’s doing. When he is here, the woods and the skies and the rivers all know it. You cannot miss the signs. You’ll understand when you see him.”  
“Shall we see him? He sounds terribly important,” said Susan.  
“Of course,” said Curly, “He will want to meet you. That is why I brought you here, after all. I’m to lead you to him.”  
“Is he – is he a beaver like you?” Asked Lucy.  
Moira laughed, but her laughter was kind and delighted, not at all mocking. She said, “No he is not, child, unless he wishes to be. Aslan is all things, even more than the Witch is, but mostly he is the King of the Wood. He is a lion – the Lion, the great Lion who is King of Beasts.”  
“Oh my,” said Susan. “I thought that he might be a man. Is he – is it safe, to meet him? I expect that I shall feel rather nervous meeting a lion.”  
“Of course you will,” said Curly. “That is only to be expected. He is fierce and wild, and I expect that he is quite fearsome to meet for the first time. I don’t remember the first time I met him, of course; none of the Lost Boys do.”  
“What are the Lost Boys?” said Peter.  
“Why the Lost Boys are Aslan’s closest and most loyal supporters,” said Curly. “We are his brothers, really, or perhaps his sons. Myself and Nibs and Slightly, and Tootles, and the twins, although I am not really a Lost Boy any longer; I grew up, you see.”  
“Do the Lost Boys not grow up?” Asked Lucy.  
And at the very same time, Susan said, “Are there no Lost Girls?”  
“No, dear,” said Moira, “Girls are far too clever to get lost in the woods and fields, or to fall out of trees or whatever it is that they do to get Aslan to find them and adopt them.”  
Curly looked thoughtful as he said, “I still count myself as a Lost Boy, of course, but Aslan is the Lion of spring. He only adopts lost children, not lost adults. And of course, I could never be truly lost with my darling Moira around. She is worth twenty of me.”  
“Oh, you silly,” said Moira, but she blushed and smiled, and her whiskers curled a little.   
It made Susan smile, for it was the very same way that her mother looked at her father when he complimented her on her dress or her shoes, or said one of the odd things that grownups say to one another sometimes.  
“I am rather looking forward to meeting him,” said Peter, “Even if I do feel frightened when I do.”  
“And so you shall meet him, all of you,” said Curly. “We will meet with Aslan and his supporters tomorrow, at the Stone Table.”  
“Where is that?” Said Lucy.  
“It’s a ways from here,” said Curly. “Down the river. We shall have to start out early in the morning to get there on time. I shall take you to it.”  
“What about the faun, though? Tootles?” Susan asked.  
“Yes, will Tootles be all right?” Asked Lucy.  
“The best and quickest way to help him is by going to meet with Aslan,” said Curly. “Until he’s with us, we can’t hope to rescue Tootles.”  
“Oh, I suppose that makes sense,” said Peter.  
“We will have to watch out for the Witch, though,” said Curly. “She will try to stop us from reaching Aslan, and if she knew that there were four of you, well, she would try all the harder and it would be all the more dangerous.”  
“Why, though?” Said Susan. “What does it matter how many of us there are?”  
“There’s a prophecy, dear,” said Moira, “Though I don’t put much stock in prophecies, the Witch does. That’s Winter for you, thinking that the future is all rigid and locked down and frozen. It’s not. But Winter sets great store by prophecies, so it’s worth knowing any good ones that turn up.”  
“What does the prophecy say?” Asked Peter.  
“Down at Cair Paravel – that’s the castle on the sea coast, at the mouth of this river,” said Curly, “There are four thrones, you see. Four thrones for four rulers.”  
Moira picked up the story, saying, “The prophecy says that Winter will find a balance with Summer when four humans sit in those four thrones, and join the great Houses of Narnia as one. And you know, Winter doesn’t want any sort of balance, or the Witch wouldn’t have locked spring away and kept it always winter here.”  
“Exactly so,” said Curly, “Exactly so. If she knew about you four, then your lives wouldn’t be worth a shake of my whiskers. She would be after you at once.”

The children had all been listening and attending so hard to what Curly and Moira were telling them, and the beavers attending so hard to telling the story, that they had not noticed or paid attention to anything else for some time. But in the silence that followed Curly’s pronouncement, Lucy looked around and said, “I say, where is Edmund?”  
You must understand, although the little house that Curly and Moira shared was cosy and delightful, it was also rather small. There was only a single room, with the kitchen cabinets and the fire, and the stove and oven on one side, and a curtained off nook for a bed on the other. Between the two was a wide, wooden table with six stools around it, and in front of the fire was Moira’s rocking chair. Strings of onions and braids of garlic hung from the ceiling, and there was a little cupboard built into one wall that held the butter crock and half a wheel of cheese. There really was nowhere that Edmund could be where they wouldn’t see him straight away, and he was nowhere to be seen.  
There was a dreadful pause, and then everyone began asking "Who saw him last? How long has he been missing? Is he outside?"   
They all rushed to the door and looked out, but there was still no sign of Edmund. The snow was falling steadily, big, fat snowflakes of the sort that will sit for moments at a time on your face and your eyelashes before they melt. The green ice of the beavers’ pool had vanished entirely under a thick blanket of snow, and the children could barely see either bank of the river.  
“Edmund,” called Peter, “Ed! Where are you?”  
And Susan called too, “Edmund!” But the snow seemed ot muffle their voices, and there was no reply, or even an echo.  
Susan looked down at her sister and sniffled just a little, though she was trying to be brave. She said, “How dreadful. No one could find their way in that snow. I wish we had never come.”  
“We must form a search party at once,” said Peter. “And split up so we can search in every direction. Do you think that there is anyone who might help us, Curly? Neighbours perhaps?”  
“No, I’m afraid not,” said Moira. “It wouldn’t do any good.”  
“But – then what shall we do?” Asked Lucy.  
“Do? Why we must be off at once,” said Curly, already pulling on his snow boots. “There isn’t a moment to lose.”  
“Thank you,” said Susan. “How will we find him?”  
“What do you mean?” Asked Curly.  
“Well, I’m sure he can’t have gone far,” said Susan, “But how will we make sure we don’t get lost ourselves in all this snow?”  
“Oh dear,” said Curly slowly. “Do you truly not realise, then? It’s no use looking for him.”  
“Realise what?” Said Peter, beginning to get angry now. “He’s our brother. Of course we’ll look for him!”  
“But we already know where he’s gone,” said Moira sadly.  
“Don’t you understand?” Said Curly. “He’s gone to her, to the Witch. He has betrayed us all.”  
“But he wouldn’t have done that,” said Lucy, in a very small voice indeed, for she did not feel nearly as certain as she would have liked. “Surely he wouldn’t.”  
“Would he not?” Said Curly, and he looked hard at the three children, as if daring them to deny it.  
“Not – not willingly,” said Susan with a little sob. “I know, he can be a bit of a little beast, but he’s our brother. He wouldn’t have sold us out.”  
Peter nodded, a quick sharp jerk of his head, and said, “How would he even know the way?”  
“Has he been to the Neverland before?” asked Curly. “Has he ever been here on his own?”  
After a long, uncomfortable pause, Lucy said, “Yes, he has.”  
Curly nodded. “And did he tell you what he’d done, or who he’d met?”  
“Well, no, he didn’t,” said Susan.  
"Then you can't be sure," said Curly, "And he has that look to him. I didn't want to say anything about it, him being your brother, but you can always tell when someone has been with the Witch and eaten her food. It's something about the eyes."  
Curly said this in a rather self-important voice, as if he knew far more about it than anyone else, and in that moment he actually sounded rather like Edmund himself. It was only for a moment, and only because Curly was thinking of his old companions, the Lost Boys, but all the same, it did make the other children miss their brother even more.  
"Maybe he did meet her," said Peter, in a rather choking sort of voice, "But he's still our brother. We still have to go and look for him."  
"No, no, that's a terrible idea," said Curly. "The only chance you have of saving him or yourselves is to keep well away from the Wicth. She's thinking of those four thrones at Cair Paravel, mark my words; she'll want all four of you. Once the four of you were all inside her house, well, there'd be four new statues there, quick as you could blink."  
Lucy's lower lip wobbled just a little, though she tried to be brave.  
"Is there no hope at all?" Asked Susan.  
"There is always hope," said Moira. "She'll keep your brother alive for now, to use as bait, or a decoy."  
"We must go and meet Aslan," said Curly, nodding. "And we must go now. The moment that she hears that you are here, she'll set out to catch us, this very night - and if he's been gone, what? Half an hour?"  
Susan nodded and said, "Yes, about that. He was here when you were telling us about Aslan - remember? He asked if the Witch couldn't turn him to stone too."  
"He did, didn't he," said Peter.  
"Well then," said Curly, "The Witch could be here in another twenty minutes or so. We must be gone right away!"  
"Did he leave before you mentioned that we were meeting Aslan at the Stone Table?" Asked Moira. "Because if he tells her that, she may go down-river in that direction and cut us off."  
"I don't know," said Lucy. "He might have heard that. Do you really think he'll tell the Witch?"  
"We have to assume that he will," said Curly. "We'll go via the lagoon. She can't take her sleigh there, and we can move faster in the lowlands than she can."


	10. House of My Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmund makes his way to the castle of the Queen of Winter, and encounters Fang the Wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out that in spite of being much beloved (by me and others), Peter Pan doesn't have all that much actual plot for the length of the text and I'm having to work quite hard to mash it into The Lion The Witch & The Wardrobe plotline, never mind my own. Bear with me, I really am getting there. The story diverges next chapter, I just had to get everyone set up first. :)

While Peter and Susan and Lucy and the beavers prepare, let us look at what Edmund has been doing in the meantime. He had eaten his share of dinner, because he was very hungry by then even though all he could think about eating was some more enchanted Turkish Delight. Back in the professor’s house he had almost – not quite, but almost – been able to forget the taste of it, but the fresh, cold air of the Neverland reminded him quite painfully of it. This is not surprising, since the air of the Neverland, and of Narnia in particular, is full of magic in just the way that the air in summer in a rose garden is full of the scent of roses. This is, in fact, the reason why fairies like flowers so much.

Edmund hadn’t enjoyed his dinner, and he hadn’t enjoyed the conversation afterwards although he stayed anyway for as long as he could stand it. No one was taking any notice of him, and he felt that his siblings were giving him the cold shoulder, though that was due more to the shards of ice in his heart than to anything that Peter, Susan or Lucy were actually doing. He imagined that they were thinking terribly mean things about him when they talked about Aslan and Summer, and it made him want to think mean things about them in turn. When Curly began to speak about the arrangement for meeting Aslan at the Stone Table, Edmund decided that enough was enough. He began, very quietly, to edge himself away from the others and towards the door.

It is sad to say that Edmund was not entirely wrong in his imaginings, for his brother and sisters did not notice at all when he slipped out the front door. He only opened the door a little way, and while Lucy shivered once at the chill draft, even she didn’t look up. Edmund closed the door quietly behind himself, thinking miserably that perhaps he wouldn’t go to the Witch at all, he would just wander into the snow until he was lost in the drifts and not a bother to anyone any more. He didn’t want his brother and sisters to be turned to stone, you see, even though he had no room for any truly kind feelings for them in his heart, it being mostly full of ice by now. Still, he remembered that he had himself been rather unkind to Lucy, and so he felt that it was his own fault that they didn’t want him around, and that perhaps he even deserved it. 

He did want some Turkish Delight, though. And the more he thought about it, the more he thought that maybe being a Prince would be nice. He would be able to order people to be nice to him, and give him anything he wanted, and pay attention to him all the time. He remembered how kind the Queen had been to him, and he forgot how frightening she had been at first, and so as he trudged into the snow, he headed down the valley and towards where he thought the two small hills had been.   
“Because,” he said to himself through his chattering teeth, “All these people who say bad things about her are her enemies, and it really isn’t true. She was rather nice to me, and she is the Queen. I expect that she can do whatever she wants, really.”

Edmund trudged through the snow, which swirled so thickly around him that he could barely see. Snowflakes piled on his eyelashes, and the cold made his nose drip, and it was growing darker every minute. He slipped and skidded, sinking knee deep at one point into a great drift of powdery snow so that he got some inside his boots, and tripped over more fallen tree trunks than he thought was at all reasonable. Edmund thought darkly of how nice it would be to have a proper road, but he kept going anyway. He felt, by this time, that he couldn’t really turn around and go back to his brother and his sisters, and in any case it was easier to keep trudging on in the same direction than to turn around. He couldn’t feel his fingers at all any more, and his toes were quite numb as well, so that it was almost as if there were shards of ice inside those extremities as well as inside his heart.

Edmund probably would have given up and simply sat down in the snow until he froze to death, except that the weather changed. The snow stopped, clearing so suddenly that it felt like magic, and a biting, chill wind sprang up. The clouds rolled away, leaving the snow-covered forest lit by bright moonlight. If Edmund thought he had been cold before, he knew better now; the clear air and the wind stripped heat away like a ravening wolf with a carcase. He walked onwards through the weird, misshapen shadows cast by the moonlight and the trees on the snow mostly because when he stopped moving for even a second, he began shivering so hard that it hurt.

He walked don into the valley, and along the frozen river until he reached the second, smaller river that he had seen before, when they first arrived at the beaver’s dam. The little valley that this second river flowed through was rather smaller than it had looked from the top of the dam, and overgrown with bushes, but Edmund persevered. He barked his shins on hidden rocks and tree trunks several times, got more snow inside his boots and his coat until he was wet through and freezing cold. But at last he came to a place where the ground grew a little more level, and the valley opened out. There, just on the bank of the small river, on a flat area between two hills, he saw what he thought must be the Queen’s house.

It was more a castle than a simple house, really. It was made of shining white stone, and seemed to be all put together of towers, each with a long, pointed spire on top, sharp as a needle. They reached for the sky like dead tree branches, or skeletons’ fingers, casting weird shadows on the snow, and Edmund felt a little afraid of the house, and not at all inclined to go inside. It was far too late to turn back, though; his knees were wobbly, and his feet felt like they must be made of wood, and he knew that he wouldn’t make it back even if he tried now. So Edmund took a deep breath, and walked towards the house.

In the bright moonlight, he was the only point of movement. Even the trees were still, those few which dared grow at the edge of the clear plain around the Queen’s house. Nothing stirred or made the slightest sound. Even Edmund’s steps were silent in the deep, new fallen snow. He walked closer and closer, until he was walking along the outer wall of the castle, past smooth, stone corners and turrets, trying to find a door. He walked almost the whole way around the house before he found it, and though he didn’t notice it himself, the direction he walked was anticlockwise, which used to be called widdershins, and is the direction of trickery and magic and Winter’s court. Edmund did not choose this direction, he merely walked in what looked the easiest way to go, and so allowed the house to choose for him.

The gate was made of silver, or something that looked like silver, and it was set into a huge arch, but it stood open. Beyond it was a wide courtyard, filled with statues so lifelike that they looked as if they were a breath or an eyeblink away from moving. Just inside the gate crouched a lion, caught just as it was ready to spring, and behind it stood a centaur with a horn raised to his lips, and beyond that a trio of fauns seemed to be dancing in a circle. Edmund stared at them, and he remembered what the beavers had said about the Witch being able to turn people to stone.

Very slowly, and with his heart racing like a steam train, Edmund ventured up to the lion. He reached out with a shaking hand and touched it, and he was actually surprised when he felt only cold stone, even though he was already convinced that it was only a statue. It looked so very lifelike, snarl frozen on its face, eyes wide and tail up, as if to lash and twitch. There was a moment, ever so brief, when pity for the frozen lion almost dislodged the ice in Edmund’s heart, and things might have gone very differently if it had. But then Edmund frowned, remembering all the talk of Aslan, the Great Lion.  
He said to himself, “It’s probably him. It’s probably that lion they were all talking about, and she’s already found him and turned him to stone, so that’s the end of that! Who’s afraid of Aslan?”  
He didn’t notice the faint lessening of the cold - for it was not nearly enough to call it warmth - that shivered through the air when he said Aslan’s name. Nor did he notice the spark of light that was fairy darting along the walls of the castle, watching him. Instead, he turned his back on the stone lion and began to cross the courtyard.

The courtyard was eerie in the moonlight, full of statues of all manner of creatures. There were satyrs and fauns, and foxes and bears and wolves, and a stone giant standing in the centre of the courtyard with his club raised in one hand. There was a winged horse, and there were statues which looked like beautiful women with leaves for hair, but which were actually the spirits of trees, and others that looked like trees which had pulled up their roots and walked on them like some sort of terrestrial squid. There were two more centaurs, and a woman with nine fox-tails, and a long, lithe, lizard-ish creature that Edmund took to be a dragon. They all looked so strange, so terribly lifelike in the bright, cold moonlight that Edmund kept feeling a sense that one must surely move at any second. He walked as a result, heading towards a dim light that he saw shining from a doorway on the far side of the courtyard.

A flight of stone steps led up to an open door, and across the threshold lay a great wolf.  
Edmund hesitated, but then he said to himself, “It’s all right. It’s only a stone wolf,” and he went to step over it.  
Instantly the wolf sprang to its feet, snarling, and with all the hair along its spine raised and bristling. It stared at Edmund with eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, with the moonlight glinting from its metal fangs and catching on the line of white fur that followed a scar along its face.  
“Who dares enter the House of Winter?” It asked in a growling voice, sniffing the air. “Stand still, stranger, and tell me who you are.”  
“Oh,” squeaked Edmund, and almost fell in his surprise and alarm. “Oh, I’m sorry. I am, if you please, sir, I am Edmund. The.. the human that Her Majesty met in the woos the other day. I’ve come to tell her that my brother and sisters are in Narnia now, quite close. She – she wanted to see them.”  
The wolf stretched lazily and its fur flattened a little. It grinned, tongue lolling from it’s red, red mouth past a pair of silver fangs, and said, “I will tell Her Majesty. Stand here, on the threshold, until I return as you value your life, child.”  
Then it walked into the house.

Edmund stood quite still, his fingers aching with cold and his heart still pounding in his chest with fright. He had no idea how long he stood there, only that the doorways was slightly sheltered from the wind and so very slightly warmer than anywhere else he had been since he left the beavers’ house. After a while, the grey wolf, Fang, the chief of the secret police, returned.   
He grinned his wolfish grin at Edmund and said, “Come in! Come in! Fortunate favourite of the Queen – or perhaps not so fortunate.”  
The wolf was so very polite that it was quite sinister, and he stared at Edmund hatefully even while he spoke in the most hospitable and charming tones. Edmund went inside, taking care to watch the wolf while he did so, and to stamp and shake off as much of the snow from his coat and his boots that he could.

He followed the wolf along a long, gloomy hallway which was filled with statues just as the courtyard had been. The floors were frosted glass that looked like cold, grey ice, and the walls were inlaid with silver and bone, and shining white gemstones a little like diamonds. Near the door, a statue of a little faun stared down the corridor with sad eyes, and further along, a stone unicorn stood, one foot lifted as if to leap into a gallop. The only light came from a doorway at the end of the hall, where a single lamp was lit, but the faint light flickered and caught on the gemstones, throwing moving shadows along the entirety of the hall. Edmund walked forward towards the light – and away from the eerie statues and the gemstone shadows - as fast as he could manage.  
“I’ve come, your Majesty,” he said as he stepped through the doorway and into the lamplit room beyond.  
The Queen was there, sitting on a throne made of glass and ice, wearing a gown of pale silk and snow leopard fur. Her wand was held idly in one hand, but she looked far from relaxed. When Edmund came into the room, she frowned at him.  
“You dare to come alone?” Said the Queen in a terrible voice.  
Edmund shuffled his feet. He said, “Please, your Majesty, I’ve done the best I can. They’re in Narnia, and quite close. They’re in the house on top of the dam just up the river, with the beavers.”  
A slow, cruel smile came over the Queen’s face.  
“That is not altogether badly done,” she said in a gentler voice. “Is this all your news?”  
“No, your Majesty,” said Edmund. “They were talking about going to meet someone. A lion, called Aslan –“  
“Do not speak that name in my house!” Hissed the Queen, standing suddenly. She looked very fearsome, and Edmund was reminded for a moment of how frightening he had found her when he first saw her, before she gave him Turkish Delight.  
“I – I’m sorry,” stammered Edmund. “Please, I’m only repeating what they said.”  
But the Queen was no longer paying attention to him. She clapped her hands once, and three wolves slinked straight away into the room, along with the gnarled little man who had been her driver when Edmund first saw her on her sleigh.  
“Make ready the sleigh,” said the Queen imperiously. “Use the harness without bells.”


	11. The Mermaids' Lagoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Pevensies escape the Witch, and gifts are given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, I was a bit burned out from trying to do two stories for NaNoWriMo this year (I made my 50k words between the two, but neither story is actually finished yet) and another idea came and poked me to start being written as well. I'll try to get back to a regular update on this til its done :) Hopefully by Christmas.

As we return to Curly and Moira and the other three children, who all had begun bundling themselves into coats just as soon as Curly said ‘There’s no time to lose!’ – excepting Moira, who instead began getting out food and supplies, and several sack to pack everything into. She pulled down a string of onions, and another of garlic, and pulled packets of tea and sugar from the cupboards.  
“Whatever are you doing, Moira?” Asked Lucy.  
Moira looked at her curiously and said, “Why I’m packing, dear. You didn’t think we’d set out on such a journey with nothing to eat?”  
“But we haven’t time,” said Susan, buttoning the collar of her coat.  
“You said she might be here any minute,” said Peter.  
“I did, I did say that,” said Curly, “But even now, Moira is ever so much better at this grown-up thing than I am. I only did it for her, you know. Aslan didn’t approve, but when I met dear Moira she reminded me so of my own mother than I simply had to grow up at least a little so I could stay with her.”  
“Oh, how romantic,” said Susan, distracted from her anxiety about the Witch.  
Moira smiled a little, although she kept packing things into sacks. She said, “He doesn’t do so badly as he thinks. Would someone get a loaf or two out of the crock over there?”  
And Curly went and fetched two loaves of bread for her, and they shared a little smile at one another as he gave them to her.  
“What about the Witch, though?” Asked Peter.  
“She can’t be here for a quarter of an hour at least,” said Moira calmly.  
"But don't we want as big a start as we can possibly get," said Peter, "if we're to reach the Stone Table before her?"   
“As soon as she looks and finds that we’re not here, she’ll be off again at top speed,” said Susan.  
“That she will,” said Curly. “And that sleigh of hers is right quick on the snow.”  
Moira nodded and said, “It’s true. There is no way that we can get to the Stone Table ahead of her, for we will be walking – but there are ways we can go on foot that she can’t follow, and might not expect. We’ll get through.”  
“Please hurry,” said Lucy, fidgeting and moving about on her toes. “I have a simply dreadful feeling that we need to go!”  
“All right dear, don’t fuss,” said Moira, and she carefully knotted each of the sacks shut and handed them out to everyone. “Let’s get on our way now.”  
And so they left the cosy little house on the dam, and though Moira wrung her hands a little, Curly insisted that they left the door unlocked. “For,” he said, “Better that it is unlocked when they arrive than that they break it down to get in, and you know they will darling.”

The five of them walked in single file, with Curly in the lead, followed by Lucy, then Peter, then Susan, and finally Moira. They were grateful that the snow had stopped, and the moon was out, since it was otherwise very dark and the soft, powdery snow hid all manner of obstacles. Curly seemed to know somehow when to leap over a pile of snow and when to wade through it, and Lucy copied him exactly, but Peter barked his shins several times on hidden rocks and fallen tree trunks.

Curly led them across the dam to the other side of the frozen river, and then down a very rough sort of little path among the trees on the river bank. The sides of the valley towered above them, pale rock and snow shining in the moonlight.  
“Best stay down here as much as we can,” said Curly. “She’ll have to keep to the top with that sleigh.”  
“This way’s quicker to the lagoon anyway, dear,” said Moira cheerfully. “And she won’t dare cross the water on that sleigh. She’ll have to go around.”

For the first little while, Lucy and Peter and Susan enjoyed the walk. Although it was dark and cold, the valley was very pretty to look at. Lucy looked around so much at the dazzling brightness of the frozen river, with its waterfalls and rapids of sparkling ice, and the snow-topped trees, and the thousands upon thousands of stars above them that she almost lost her footing several times. It wasn’t too long before she started to get tired, though, and the sack she was carrying seemed heavier and heavier. The moon vanished behind clouds and snow began to fall again, and Lucy wondered how much longer she could go on. She fell back, though it was not at all on purpose, and let Peter and then Susan go on ahead of her. In truth, Lucy was almost asleep on her feet, and she might well have simply sat down on the nearest log if it weren’t for Moira walking with her.  
“Not far now, dear,” said Moira softly.  
Lucy nodded, although she could barely keep her eyes open to focus on the path. She barely noticed her brother and sister in front of her stop as they came over a small rise until she bumped into Susan from behind. Then she looked up, and gasped.

Stretching out in front of her in the moonlight was a broad lagoon, shimmering and dark by turns. Unlike the river or the lake above the beaver's dam, this was liquid water, although bits of ice floated in it near the river mouth where the frozen river fed into the dark lagoon. Flickers of moonlight fell between the clouds and glittered on the surface, and Lucy thought that she could hear some kind of singing, high and sweet and faint, like the wind wailing through rocks had somehow taken the sound of flutes and horns and strange, alien voices.   
She jumped a little when Moira said, "Come along, love. Down here."  
As Lucy looked around, coming fully awake for the first time in ages, she saw Curly vanishing into a little hole in the riverbank that had been hidden by some bushes. She glanced back at Moira, who gestured her onward, then stooped down and crawled into the hole after Curly. Behind her she heard some scuffling and panting, and in a few moments all five of them were inside.  
"Wherever are we?" Asked Peter.  
"It's an old hiding-place for the Lost Boys in bad times," said Curly, "and a great secret. It's not much of a place but we must get a few hours' sleep." 

It wasn't nearly such a nice cave as Tootles', Lucy thought. It was really just a hole in the ground, with an earthen floor that had some odd coloured mushrooms growing out of it, but it was dry and warmer than outside. It was also very small so that when they all lay down they were all a bundle of fur and clothes together, and what with that and being warmed up by their long walk they were really rather snug. Moira made sure that everyone was as comfortable as they could be, and Curly handed round in the dark a little flask filled with something bitter and fiery and sweet that everyone had a few sips of. It made all of them cough, but it also gave them a deliciously warm feeling after they had swallowed it, and they all went straight to sleep.

It seemed to Lucy that it was only minutes later that she woke, although it was really hours and hours. For a few minutes she lay there, curled up against Susan's back with her eyes shut, stiff and aching and thinking how very much she would like a hot bath. She slowly opened her eyes and blinked at the cold daylight coming in through the mouth of the little cave. With a jolt, she was suddenly wide awake indeed, and so were all of the others, sitting up with pale faces and eyes wide, listening to a sound outside the cave which was the very sound they had been thinking of and fearing during their long walk the previous night. It was the tinkling and jingling of bells.  
"It it- her?" Whispered Susan.  
Curly got up and scampered out of the cave in a flash. Lucy and Susan both thought that it was a terribly silly thing for him to do, and Peter thought it a very brave one, but the truth is that Curly was simply being sensible. Beavers can be very stealthy when they choose.  
"Don't worry about him," said Moira quietly. "My Curly can get up to the top of the riverbank in among the brambles and bushes without being seen, and see which way she goes. Not even Winter can see everything."  
Susan stared anxiously at the cave mouth and whispered, "I hope he'll be all right."  
"He will," said Moira.  
And then they waited. It was a terribly long five minutes or so, and Lucy was almost certain that Curly had been caught by the Witch. She sat still and quiet and listened very hard, and so did Susan and Peter and Moira.

It was a great surprise to all of them when Curly popped his head back into the cave with a beaverish grin and said, "It's all right! Come out, come out, you must see this! It isn't her at all."  
Moira was first, and she helped Lucy and Susan crawl out of the cave into the bright winter sunlight. Peter crawled out behind them and stood, blinking, in the sun. The tinkling of bells was louder out here, and there was a strange sound under it as well, almost like singing. Lucy thought of the singing of the wind that she'd heard, or thought she'd heard, the previous night.  
"Come on!" Cried Curly, almost bouncing in place with excitement and delight. "Come and see! This is a nasty blow for the Witch. I do believe that spring is coming!"  
"What do you mean, Curly?" Panted Peter as they scrambled down the steep slope of the river bank towards the lagoon.  
But Curly didn't answer, as indeed he didn't need to. They all saw at the same time, a mass of glittering points of light dancing in the air above the lagoon, and on the rocks near the shore, a trio of mermaids sunning themselves and singing.  
"Oh," gasped Susan.  
"It's been so long," whispered Moira, wiping at her eyes a little.

The five of them walked down the rest of the slope to the rocky, icy edge of the lagoon. Some of the points of light darted over to them with a sound like the tinkling of bells or falling water, and circled and spiralled around them like curious fireflies. Each one glowed a slightly different colour, and when they came near enough you could feel that they were warm, almost hot, like a candle. Lucy laughed in delight and spun around in place in the snow so that she could watch them. As she turned, Lucy saw that a few of the fairies, for that is what the points of light were - fairies like Tinkerbell, had alighted in Susan's hair like a crown. Susan was walking with slow, steady steps closer to the edge of the lagoon, and for just a few moments as she stepped onto the ice at the very edge Lucy thought she looked like a princess from a fairytale in her fur coat and her slippers, with a crown of glowing fairylights in her wild hair. Then she was just Susan again, slipping and catching her balance as she edged out onto the ice.  
"Do be careful dear," called Moira. "The water is very cold."  
Susan didn't answer, so Peter said, "I'll go get her," and at the same time, Curly said, "Let me go and make sure she doesn't fall," and Lucy, who was paying more attention to things beyond just Susan, said, "Where are the mermaids?"

Then the three mermaids surfaced from the lagoon just in front of Susan, although if you had guessed you would have said that the water must be far too shallow for them that close to the shore. One of them started singing, and her voice was so very strange and beautiful that Lucy could never afterwards describe it. She thought it sounded like home, but home seen through a mirror, which was an odd way for a voice to sound, but it did.  
"They aren't for you," said Curly, huskily.  
The mermaid closest to Susan glanced at him scornfully, and tossed her long, copper hair. "We are not child stealers," she said. "We bring gifts for Aslan's Chosen, the kings and queens of Narnia."  
"That is very unusual," murmured Moira to Lucy.   
"The spring tides are rising," said the second mermaid, idly flipping an ebony fin out of the water. "It has been a long time, but it's come at last. Aslan is on the move. Winter's hold is weakening."  
Lucy felt a deep shiver of gladness thrumming through her when the mermaid said that.  
"Approach, children of the shore," said the first mermaid, and she blinked eyes like molten bronze at Lucy.

Lucy took a hesitant step forward. Susan knelt down on the edge of the ice and waited, staring at the mermaids with wide, longing eyes. Peter waited for Lucy, then the two of them walked up to the edge of the lagoon with Susan. It seemed a very solemn occasion, and yet festive, too. The third mermaid was still singing, and the glitter and tinkle of fairylights was all around them. Curly and Moira stayed where they were, but they made no move to stop the children.  
"Peter, son of Edmund," said the mermaid with copper hair.   
Peter knelt next to his sister and said, "Yes?"  
"This is Dyrnwen. Bear it well." And she lifted a sword out of the lagoon, complete with scabbard and sword belt and everything it would need, and handed it to Peter. He took it reverently, and drew the blade a little way out of the scabbard to look at it. The hilt was carved from pale ivory, made up of two chimaeras twining together, and the blade itself was steel so brightly polished that it glinted blindingly in the sun.  
The mermaid looked at Peter and said, "Wear the scabbard and sword-belt into battle, and you will not bleed from any wound you take."  
Peter blinked, astonished. He said, solemn and serious, "Thank you."  
"Susan, daughter of Wendy," said the second mermaid. Her hair floated in the water like midnight-black silk, and her tail looked like the clear night sky, spangled with stars.  
"Yes," breathed Susan.  
"To you we bring Kryselakto, which was crafted from moonlight and carried by the Huntress. Use it only at great need, for it does not easily miss, and each arrow brings calamity to what it strikes."   
The mermaid handed Susan a bow made of pale wood, and a quiver full of arrows. The copper-haired mermaid lifted a conch shell formt he water and offered that to Susan as well. She said, "When you place this horn to your lips and blow it, then wherever you are, help of some kind will come."  
Susan took the bow and quiver, and the conch shell, which was shaped like a hunting horn and hung easily form a leather strap that the mermaid gave to Susan. Susan nodded to the mermaid, looking like a fairytale princess against for just a moment, and said, "Thank you. I will take good care of them."  
"Lucy, daughter of Wendy," said the third mermaid, who had not spoken until that moment. The air still held the sound of her voice singing as she spoke, and her eyes were as deep and luminous as emeralds.  
"Yes," said Lucy, and she knelt down on the edge of the ice next to her sister and brother.  
The mermaid held out a little bottle made of crystal, and a pair of curved daggers with loops on the ends. "In this bottle," she said, "There is a cordial made from the juice of the fire-flowers that grow in the mountains of the sun. If you or any of your friends are hurt, a drop of this will heal you. And these," she placed the daggers into Lucy's hand, "Are the claws of the Chimaera, which will only answer to a soul as wild and brave as their parent."  
"Thank you very much," said Lucy gravely.   
"And now," said the first mermaid, "We have something for right now as well."   
And she lifted out of the water a tray carved from white coral, containing five cups and saucers, and a jar of honey, and another jar of cream, and a steaming teapot. Somehow, all of it was dry (and so were all the gifts that the mermaids had presented to the children), and the cups weren't full of brackish, cold lagoon water. Moira hurried forward and took the tea tray from the mermaid with a murmured thanks, and then all three mermaids dived back into the water. They swam away like coloured shadows under the surface of the lagoon, although the fairies continued to swarm and flutter around in the air.  
"Well," said Moira after a moment. "Come and have some tea, and we'll put together some breakfast."  
"Yes, dear," said Curly, and he helped Moira get some of the bread and cheese out of the sacks and make some sandwiches, while Susan found a flat spot on the snow that they could set down the tea tray and pour the tea.  
"You see what I mean," said Curly. "Spring is coming."  
Lucy looked rather curiously at him, because she really didn't see what the mermaids had to do with spring.  
"The merfolk only sing when the spring and autumn tides come in," said Moira. "It's good luck to hear them, for beavers. Means the meltwater will be coming soon."


	12. Tiger Lily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three Pevensies have tea after meeting with the mermaids, and witness the wolves sttempt to sacrifice the dryad princess, Tiger Lily, to the ocean - attempt, because some old friends of Curly's are there to stop them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not abandoned, I swear. I just got distracted finishing off a piece of original fic which is now in the editing process. I'll try not to leave it so long between chapters on this one next time :)

It was then, as the Pevensie children and the beavers were just finishing their tea, that they heard the howls of wolves closing in on their prey. The sound was shocking, but not so loud or so close that they felt immediately afraid. Even so, the bright winter sunlight seemed a little less bright. Shivers crossed the cold, black water of the lagoon, and clouds stole across the sky a little at a time, so that you never saw them moving in but suddenly they were there and the sky was grey and gloomy where before it had been clear and bright. Lucy shivered, and Susan put an arm around her sister to comfort her.  
"Those are the Witch's wolves," said Curly quietly. "I do wonder who they're hunting."  
"No matter who, they'll be driving them towards Marooner's Rock," said Moira. "It's not safe to stay here."  
"What's Marooner's Rock?" Asked Susan. She felt as if she almost knew the answer already, had perhaps dreamed once or twice of a place with that name, and it sent a cold chill sliding down her spine to think of it.  
"In the old days, people would go there to speak to the mermaids," said Curly, pointing at a spit of grey stone that projected out into the lagoon. "Or to leave gifts or trade goods. At low tide there's a causeway out to the Rock, but when the tide comes in first the causeway is covered, and then the Rock is too."  
Peter said, "That doesn't sound so bad."  
Moira sighed and said, "It didn't used to be bad at all. But Winter rules all of Narnia now, even the lagoon, and Winter is cruel. The wolves leave prisoners as offerings to the sea."  
"Oh," said Susan.  
The sound of wolves howling to one another came again, and also a rustling, drumming sound like flowing water or the wind through the tree-tops. Both sounds were coming closer through the forest, towards the lagoon.  
"Come along now, children," said Moira, "We must get moving."  
"Shouldn't we help?" Asked Lucy.  
"Yes," said Peter, "Whoever it is, if the wolves are chasing them then they're probably on our side. We can't simply leave them to drown."  
"Spoken like a true child of Summer! No Lost Boy would leave a compatriot to die alone," said Curly, then grimaced as Moira frowned at him. He added, contritely, "But we should hide, at least, so that we don't end up taken prisoner too."

The three children wriggled their way into the brambles and long grass around the lagoon, laying flat on their fronts in the snow while Moira and Curly shifted branches and brambles around until they were satisfied that they were as well hidden as they could be. Then the two beavers scurried into the bushes to hide as well, and not a minute too soon. Just as Moira settled herself next to Lucy, the rustling, thrumming sound got louder still and then a beautiful girl only a little older than Susan walked out from among the trees. She had her head held high, glossy hair swaying in the breeze, and spirals and patterns of black and dark green broke up the satiny smoothness of her brown skin and emphasised her long limbs and proud bearing. She carried a short spear in one hand, and on her head she wore a crown of woven ivy and laurel leaves, of such a vibrant green that it seemed quite comically out of place in the winter landscape of fir trees and snow and stone. Surrounding her were six lean, grey wolves who stalked along the path, snarling occasionally at the girl or at one another.  
"That is Tiger Lily," whispered Moira to Lucy, almost soundlessly because she knew very well how sound can carry over snow. "The Princess of the Dryads. They should never have been able to catch her."

Behind the six grey wolves stalked another, even larger wolf. He was the largest and blackest wolf that Lucy had ever imagined seeing, with a streak of white across his face, from an old wound that had scarred badly, and another across his hindquarters. When he snarled, the light glinted off his metal teeth, and when he howled, as he did at that moment, his voice sent shivers down the spines of all three of the Pevensies.  
"Fang," whispered Curly, which rather made Lucy jump a little as she hadn't noticed him moving up beside her. "What is he doing here?"

The Dryad, Tiger Lily, saw the lagoon and the spit of rock, and she stopped walking for a moment, but the snarls and growls of the wolves forced her forwards. One of the wolves lurched clumsily, tripping on some unseen rock or root, and stumbled into the shoulder of the large black wolf that Curly had identified as Fang, the head of the Witch's secret police. Fang snarled viciously, and bit the other wolf hard enough that Lucy could see blood dripping from the wound, all without breaking stride. The wounded wolf limped along without complaint, tailed tucked between his legs and ears low.  
"Faster," snarled Fang. "Hoist her onto the Rock!"  
Tiger Lily walked with calm grace, face composed in an expression of icy disdain, but Lucy thought she looked just a little frightened as well.

"You'll do no such thing," roared a mighty, growling voice that also had the sound of a bell, and of the breeze rushing through the trees on a summer day.  
All seven of the wolves froze, hackles up and ears and tails down.   
At the same moment, Moira whispered, "Could it be?"  
Fang stalked forward towards the rock, stiff-legged and hackles up, and growled, "Who said that?"   
"Who do you think, cur?" The roaring, growling voice called out.  
The other wolves looked rather frightened, and the one who'd been bitten was trying to slink away from the others and into the trees. Fang turned and snarled at him, then barked out, "Stand your ground! We are Winter's guard, and we will see the filthy greenskin drowned as the Queen ordered!"  
"But Captain," whined one of the other wolves, "There's a lion about. I know the sound of a lion."  
"There is not," said Fang, but even Lucy could hear that he was not quite as certain as he liked to make out.  
"Not that lion, obviously," said another wolf, "But still. A lion, Captain."  
Fang turned on him with a snarl, but just then a voice warbled from the woods, musically although somewhat out of tune, "In the forest, the winter forest, the Lion walks tonight.."  
"No! He's dead," snarled Fang, and dashed into the woods towards the singing.

The other wolves stood around awkwardly, fidgeting somewhat, as a series of loud crashing sounds came from the trees.  
"We should go help him, you think?" Said one of the wolves.  
"But the prisoner," said another.  
"Dash it all, come and help me!" Yelled Fang's voice from the snowy shadows of the forest.  
"Are you sure, boss?"  
A snarled, "Yes!" made several of the wolves flinch.

In the undergrowth where they were hiding, Lucy was rather surprised to notice Curly almost vibrating with laughter.  
"What's so funny?" She whispered.  
"It's just such a marvellous imitation," chuckled Curly. "Mine isn't nearly so good. But I do think I can be of some assistance anyway."  
"Don't you dare," hissed Moira, but it was too late.  
In precisely the same high, musical tone as the voice in the woods, although somewhat closer to being in key, Curly sang, "In the forest, the mighty forest, the Lion walks tonight. Oh-eeee eeoeoumawheehh."  
"Oh no, he's done it now," whispered Moira. "Be ready to move, now, children. But only when I tell you."  
From the forest came another series of muffled crashes, and the mysterious singer warbled back, "Eeeumumowheeeh.."

The grey wolf who had spoken before, identifiable by his half-torn ear, said, "What in blazes is that? Do any of you know? Are you alright in there, Captain?"  
"Yes!" Growled Fang, then, "No, come and help me you fools!"  
The grey wolf called out, "What about the prisoner?"  
"Set her free," came Fang's voice.  
"Free!"  
"Yes, cut her bonds and let her go."  
"But, Captain -"  
"At once, d'ye hear,' cried Fang's voice, "Or I'll bite you so hard you won't be walking for a week."  
"This is queer," gasped one of the other wolves.  
"Better do what the captain orders," said the grey one with the ripped ear nervously, and he moved up to the Dryad princess and bit through the cords binding her hands.  
The wolves all backed away from her, and at once like an eel she slid between them and into the trees. Immediately, a terrifying roar came from the edge of the lagoon, and all of the wolves turned tail and fled into the woods.

Curly waited less than a minute before scampering out from the undergrowth and towards the rock. Peter ran after him, although Susan tried to hold him back.  
"What if there is a lion," she said urgently.  
"There's no lion there," said Moira. "Come along, we might as well go down."  
"How do you know there's no lion?" Asked Lucy.  
Moira huffed a little, though she smiled too, so Lucy knew that she wasn't truly upset. She said, "They wouldn't be so disrespectful if He was actually here, would they?"  
And then Lucy saw a black and white collie dog bounce out of the woods and rush over to Curly with his tongue lolling in doggy enthusiasm.  
"Curly!" Exclaimed the dog, and Lucy knew that she would one day stop being surprised at talking animals, but she wasn't there yet.  
"Slightly!" Said Curly, and hugged the dog.  
The dog licked his face, and then trotted in a circle around him, sniffing him thoroughly.  
Curly laughed and said, "Is it just you, Slightly?"  
"No, no," said the dog, "Nibbs is around, too. Are you back then? In the game? We could have such grand times, Curly, like the old days. Did you see those wolves run?"  
He barked with laughter.

Peter ran up to them, then, and so did a strange little man with greyish skin and a bright red hat and scarf. Moira, Lucy and Susan were not far behind Peter and so they heard the introductions very well.  
"This is Peter, Slightly, he is a human boy," said Curly.  
"Oh! Oh my," said Slightly the collie dog, "Then you will be going to Caer Paravel?"  
Curly nodded and said, "Yes, we are. Peter, these are my old friends Slightly and Nibbs. We were all lost boys together, before I met my Moira."  
"And we've missed you, Curly," said the odd little grey-skinned man.  
"Nibbs, Slightly," said Moira as she and the two girls got close enough to not have to yell to be heard. "How lovely to see you again."  
"Hello Moira," said Slightly, bouncing over to greet her with his tail wagging. "Did you bring snacks? The best mothers always bring snacks."  
Nibbs sighed and shook his head. He said, "She's not your mother, you know."  
"But she could be," said Slightly, "If she brought snacks!"  
Moira laughed and said, "Yes, we brought food, Slightly, but you must wait until lunch time. These are Lucy and Susan, Peter's sisters. Lucy, Susan, this is Slightly, and over there is Nibbs, who is an old friend of my husband's."  
"Ooh, let's go with them to Caer Paravel, Nibbs," said Slightly. "There will definitely be adventures if we do that. And snacks!"

A mournful hooting from the lagoon interrupted Slightly's enthusiasm. Lucy and Susan looked quickly in that direction, where they saw a large, rather scruffy-looking nest floating on the cold water of the lagoon. On the nest sat a large white bird a little like a pelican, and it was this bird which was the source of the hooting.  
"Whatever is that?" Asked Lucy.  
"That is the Never-Bird," said Nibbs the goblin.  
"What is a Never-Bird, though?" Asked Susan, who rather enjoyed birdwatching with Peter in the summer holidays, and felt that she knew quite a lot about birds.  
"Well, it is a bird, like that one," said Slightly, wagging his tail.  
"It is a warning is what it is," said Moira. "Come along now, all of you. We shouldn't be out in the open."  
"See! See," said Slightly, "Adventures! They're probably being hunted by trolls!"  
"No trolls, Slightly, but the wolves are probably after us," said Curly.  
At that very moment, they heard a grumbling growl approaching from the woods. Curly and Moira hustled the children into hiding in the undergrowth near Marooner's Rock, and Nibbs with them. Slightly crouched in the grass just below the rock, on the edge of the lagoon, and Lucy was very surprised to find that his black and white fur gave him quite good camouflage against the dirty snow and the rocks.

"Come on, lads, come out," grumbled Fang as he slunk out of the trees.  
Two of the other wolves came out at his words, both of them keeping their heads down and their tails between their legs.  
Fang bared his teeth at them, but it was half-hearted at best. he said, "Smee? Starkey? Where are the others?"  
"Scarpered," said the black-furred wolf called Starkey.  
"Game's up, Cap'n," said the other one. Smee, Lucy thought he was called. "Evil day an all, they'll have ratted you out to the Queen by now."  
Fang looked at him and said, "Ratted - why what nonsense are you talking, Smee?"  
"Well, you told us to let the greenskin go," said Starkey.  
"I gave no such order!"  
"We all heard you, Cap'n," said Smee apologetically. "We thought it was mighty odd, but you did insist."  
Fang sighed a rather melancholy sigh and said, "So you lost our prisoner, and she's gone by now, slippery little snipling. And we failed to catch the mortals. She won't be pleased, and there's the truth. No, it won't be a good day for us, lads. We'd best find something to bring her instead."  
"Bright side, Cap'n, the rats'll get what they deserve," said Smee.  
"That they will, Smee, that they will. But now - we need some good news for the Queen. Do you agree, my fine bullies?"  
"Aye, Cap'n," said Starkey and Smee both.  
The wolves loped away, into the woods, and only after they had been gone for a good five minutes did Moira let the children come out of hiding. They were rather quiet as they continued on their way, along the shore of the lagoon.


End file.
